


Artes Academy

by onekingdomonce



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Porn With Plot, Preppy Private School AU, but guess what, they catch feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 54,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekingdomonce/pseuds/onekingdomonce
Summary: Laurent liked to generally believe that he was a good person. He could be a bit much at times, but he usually meant well. He tried to do the right thing, and though it wasn’t always proven true, he liked to think that good things happened to good people. He was either a very bad person, or the entire philosophy was bullshit because there was no other explanation as to why he had woken up to a world where he’d willingly had sex with Damen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so here’s the deal: this was initially an excuse for smut fic but it quickly got out of hand but i was too lazy to properly morph it into the actual story like fic its masquerading as bc I just wanted them to have tons of sex so im aware the pacing is weird and theres minimal actual plot, they deserve it so just let it happen
> 
> i also wanna clarify something with laurents characterization here- i know it’s out of character for him to be needlessly rude in a no abuse au, but being that this is literally a hate sex au, it wouldn’t make much sense for them to initially be nice to each other. i know he wouldn’t normally be an ass to damen for no reason but the whole point of the fic is that they don’t like each other for stupid petty reasons soooo yeah just wanted to throw that out there

The day had started out about the same as any other had. The warmth of the sun bathing Laurent’s bed felt the same as he woke up at the usual hour, early enough to get in the shower and get dressed before he had to be off. The breakfast options their butler had set out for him weren’t any different. The ride to school through the busy streets of bikers and traffic hadn’t taken any longer than the usual amount of time. 

Maybe Laurent could blame everything on that. Maybe nothing seeming out of the ordinary was why he hadn’t felt even remotely prepared when had he walked into his second class of the day, no warning signs to alert him that the universe hated him and he was about to get fucked. 

“What are you doing out here?”

Laurent didn’t finch at the voice, not turning to look as the glass door slid shut behind him, Jord walking across the balcony and leaning his elbows on the glass ledge by Laurent.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Laurent muttered, still facing forward. Two girls were walking down the path with their arms linked, one laughing at something the other said. They seemed happy. The feeling must be nice. 

“It looks like you’re hiding from a party in favor of moping alone on a balcony.”

“Hear, hear,” Laurent said, raising his flute before drowning the champagne in one sip. Auguste did always tell him he had a flair for the dramatics.

Jord made a disgruntled sound in his throat, taking the empty glass from Laurent and setting in on the small table. Laurent let him, focusing on the bubbling he felt in his stomach. Maybe he could get buzzed for the rest of the semester, that could make things a little more bearable. 

“I can’t believe you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Jord said. Was he still there? 

Laurent turned his eyes, slowly. “Are you serious.”

“It’s just a term project,” Jord said, in a tone he probably thought was convincing. “And you’re smart. It’s not like you need to rely on someone else for a good grade and got paired with an incompetent. It could be worse.”

Laurent blinked, dumbfounded. He was serious.

“First of all,” Laurent said. “He likely _is_ an incompetent, unless a sport is involved. Second, no, it could _not_ be worse.”

Jord shifted, crossing his arms. “I’ve spoken with him a few times. Damen’s not such a bad guy.”

Laurent thought he heard wrong. “You what?”

“He was behind me in line at the lunch hall a few times, he’s okay.” Jord shrugged. “We both like the roast beef.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Laurent said, turning back to face the city. “That makes him perfectly eloquent.”

He heard Jord sigh, just as his phone vibrated. Laurent saw him reach in his pocket from the corner of his eye, typing something quickly before looking at him.

“I came out here to tell you Auguste is looking for you,” he said, slipping his phone back in. It may have taken a few years of friendship, but Jord finally knew when to stop trying with Laurent. “I gotta go meet Orlant, are you staying?”

“On this balcony, or at this party?”

“Either.”

Laurent waved a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was after Jord was gone that Laurent turned back, pushing his thumb and pointer finger into his eyes and exhaling. It had only been about a week since the last communal party, and while Laurent usually had no qualms with such events, the last thing he felt like doing at that moment was posing with his classmates for photographs or pretending like he cared to be around uppity societal parents who were likely all having affairs with each other.

He looked at the time on his wrist, seeing that it was half past eleven. He had to be up in less than seven hours, it wouldn’t be too far fetched to head home then. As it was, the next big event was already scheduled on his calendar. He could make up for his lack of socializing then.

The door slid open again, Auguste finally catching up with him. Laurent drummed his fingers on the rail, waiting to hear his brother’s predictable spiel about how he needed to try and be more sociable, less recluse.

“Took you long enough,” Laurent said.

“Oh,” he heard. “Were you waiting for me?”

Laurent’s fingers stilled, circling around the bar in a curl as he closed his eyes. He should have expected that, it clearly wasn’t his day.

He turned around to see Damen leaning on the closed door, lifting his brow in greeting as he brought his glass of amber liquor to his lips. It didn’t surprise Laurent, Damen was just the type of person to think he was cool for drinking whiskey. 

He looked at Laurent with expectancy as he licked his lips off, glistening with moisture and residual liquid. Laurent lifted his eyes, already feeling a prickle of annoyance. “Did you need something?”

What he really wanted to ask was, _could you drop out of my class so I can be partnered with someone bearable?_ But he was relatively confident that that would be a futile attempt. 

“Are you offering something?” Damen asked.

Whatever look Damen received was enough to make him grin, in a way that he probably thought was charming but really just made Laurent see the appeal in his brother’s ability in throwing a physical blow, whereas he always favored the verbal kind.

As Laurent contemplated all the different things he’d like to offer in that moment, Damen drained his glass and set it down beside Laurent’s. Laurent hadn’t seen him since that morning where each of their names had been called together, the teacher moving on to the next set airily as if both of their heads hadn’t shot up like their death sentences had just been called.

“We need to figure out how we’re doing this,” Damen said, leaning on his shoulder.

Laurent eyed the casual recline without turning his body. He considered the idea of kicking the table over and then carefully, regretfully extinguished it. He was a pragmatic person, he could be rational. 

“Fine,” Laurent said, mirroring his pose. “How much do you think she’ll go for?”

Damen stared back at him. “Who?”

Laurent called on as much patience as he could find, gripping it tightly. “Kyrina.”

Damen didn’t look any less confused. “What do you mean?”

“Money,” Laurent clarified, wondering if diagrams would help him understand things quicker. “How much do you think will be enough for her to let us switch?”

An odd expression twisted across Damen’s face, one that Laurent wasn’t quite familiar with. It was refreshing, they’d managed to extract a decent amount of reaction out of each other throughout their time at Artes Academy, the same looks were getting a little dull. He watched as he pushed himself off the wall, straightening his features.

“We are not _paying her off,”_ Damen said, sounding out each word like he was testing them for the first time. Laurent took it in flatly, unimpressed.

“Give me a break,” Laurent said, motioning to his body. Damen was abnormally large, it couldn’t be cheap to have the quality of clothing he wore personally made for his fit. “It’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“It’s not about the cash,” Damen said, still looking at Laurent the same way. “It’s dishonest.” 

Laurent felt himself blink twice, the silence on the balcony stretching out between them like a cord. He didn’t know what to say to properly convey his thoughts on that, which was enough indication that it was probably best he said nothing at all.

Just like that, Damen’s brows unfurrowed so that they were in a straight line, much like the grim set of his mouth.

“Listen,” he said, stepping closer to Laurent. “If there’s anything I say that you’ll trust, let it be that I don’t want to be stuck with you any more than you do with me.”

It said something about Laurent that that actually felt like a comfort. He arched an eyebrow, which Damen misunderstood for doubt, or perhaps hope for elaboration.

“Believe me,” Damen went on. “I’m not looking forward to dealing with your bullshit myself, but I know there’s no cutting corners. Let’s just decide on a time to work on this so we can be done with it quicker.”

Laurent straightened his shoulders. “Fine. Tomorrow after school at my house.”

“Fine.”

“Good,” Laurent said, turning to the street. “No go away.”

 

The thing was, Laurent wasn’t even entirely sure why the two of them didn’t get along. They’d always ran in similar circles when they were growing up, neighborhood dinners and galas, even holidays on the same provinces, but there had never been much interaction there. Laurent always knew they would end up at the same school when they were old enough, and hadn’t given it much thought past that. They hadn’t had their first real block of communication until their first class together, Political Science Year I. A debate had broken out on the first day, and it had only taken a few minutes of hearing Damen’s thoughts on the history between Vere and Akielos for Laurent to conclude that he was a simpleminded idiot. 

Auguste tended to tell him that he was exaggerating the matter, but Laurent had a vividly fond memory of Damen in turn calling him a pretentious know it all, and that seemed to pave the way for them. Butting heads in poli-sci became something like a routine, as did their passing looks in the hall and their colorful remarks at social events, Laurent’s exceptionally more colorful. 

And now, here they were. Two years later with no choice but to spend more time together than they’ve ever been subjected to, with no one to turn to but each other. It was specific thoughts of all those inevitable meetings to come that were plaguing Laurent as he sat in the courtyard for his lunch block, the spot of choice that he, Jord, Orlant, Rochert and Lazar had long ago claimed as their own. The plus side was that it was open, airy, a good separation from the crowded chatter of the dining hall. The downside was that most days the school’s football team tended to make use of the field for an additional practice.

“Laurent.”

Laurent glanced up from his salad, seeing that Orlant was eyeing him with a curious look. “What?”

“The new restaurant on Nesson,” he said, in a tone that sounded like he was repeating himself. “Are you coming?”

Laurent pushed another forkful into his mouth, lettuce and almond shavings crunching between his teeth as he chewed. “I’m busy,” he swallowed. 

“We were just talking about it a week ago.”

“He can’t,” Lazar said, not looking up as he scrolled through Laurent’s phone, a string of images of their next French assignment that he had forgotten to take down. “He has a date with the quarterback.”

“No shit?” Rochert said, uncapping his water bottle. “You’re actually working with him?”

“I’m out of options.” Laurent pushed his food away. “He almost cried when I suggested we pay our way out.”

“I can’t believe how ungrateful you’re being,” Lazar said as he crossed something out in his notebook, swiping the screen again.

Laurent turned his head to his direction. “What.”

“Seriously.” Orlant said, nudging his head to the grass. “Look at him. You know he’s probably the fuck of a lifetime.” 

Laurent didn’t look. “Thank you, some of us have standards.” 

“Remind me again why there’s an embargo on him?” Jord said. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Rochert added. “But he seems to be precisely your type.”

Lazar looked up before he could speak, his lips tilted in a crooked smile that did nothing to placate Laurent. He held up Laurent’s phone, an elbow on the table. “You have a text.” 

Laurent grabbed the phone out of his hand, tapping on his messages icon to see a new text that had come in from a number that didn’t have a name.

_Give me your address so I can add it to my GPS._

Laurent turned the words over, not bothering to question how he had gotten his number to begin with. He glanced over without turning his body to see Damen seated on one of the bleacher steps with his thighs spread apart, his wrists dangling between his knees as he spoke to someone else.

Laurent texted back quickly, watching him as the text sent. He couldn’t see Damen’s expression well form the distance, but he only spared the phone a glance before tossing it onto his bag, making his way back onto the field in a jog. Laurent locked his phone without saving the number and slid it into his own pocket, turning back to the table to find them all grinning. 

 

Laurent was in his bedroom that afternoon, flipping through a textbook when he heard a buzzing sound by his bed, Radel’s voice coming through on the speaker attached to his wall. 

_“Your guest has arrived, sir. Shall I send him up?”_

Laurent rubbed at his face, blowing air out between his fingers before he straightened his jacket, walking towards the speaker.

“Leave him,” he said towards the mouthpiece, pressing on the round button. “I’m coming down.”

_”Certainly.”_

Laurent pushed his hair off of his face, trying to mentally prepare himself for the long evening ahead of him as he opened his door, making his way down the narrow hall. It was a few winds and turns before he reached the staircases, taking them one at a time with his hand trailing the rail before he reached the main part of the first floor, the entrance hall a ways off.

Damen was standing with his back to Laurent when he walked in, the hall otherwise empty as his gaze trailed all the portraits they had hanging the wall, his hands pushed in his back pockets. Laurent pressed his lips together, once again reminding himself that working alone was unfortunately not an option before he cleared his throat.

Damen jumped, though he hid it well so it only showed in the line of his back, jerking slightly like a shot of static running through his spine before he turned his head and glanced at Laurent over his shoulder.

“God, you’re dramatic,” he said, turning back around.

Laurent rolled his eyes back, repressing the urge to shove him as he stepped around his hulking form which seemed supremely out of place in Laurent’s home. As it was, he’d yet to adjust to the idea that he was actually here, like they were acquaintances or something. 

“Let’s go,” Laurent said, motioning towards one of the nearby doorways. 

Damen took a few steps towards where he had pointed, leaning his body so he could see inside the room. When he saw the wide dining table, he turned to look at Laurent. “Why here?”

Laurent followed his gaze before looking back up at him. “Why not?”

He watched as something flickered behind Damen’s eyes, whatever it was being enough to shift his features so that he looked like a private joke had been whispered into his ear. “What,” he said, crossing his arms along his chest. “Are you nervous to have me in your room?”

Laurent took in the way the sleeves of his blazer strained against his upper arms, unable to notice anything else. He raised his eyes, unimpressed with the tone in his voice. “Was that meant to sound alluring?” 

“Was that meant to be an aversion?”

“No,” Laurent said, picking up Damen’s bag that was resting by his feet and shoving it at his chest. “Follow me.”

He turned around without waiting, walking back up the path he had come as Damen matched his pace, neither of them speaking until they reached the top of the steps, Laurent leading the way to his door.

He didn’t pay Damen much mind as he walked up to his desk and began sorting through all the papers and notebooks, popping a pen into his mouth as he reopened his textbook from earlier. He was aware of Damen standing in the center and looking around while he placed a stack of sticky notes on top to hold him place, staring at him.

“I knew it,” Damen said, his fingers skimming the edge of his bedpost before falling to the silk of his bedspread. “Your room is as ostentatious as you are.”

“Big word,” Laurent said dryly, tossing the pen down. “I’m sure yours is as dull as you.”

The words only made Damen smile, his brown eyes glinting as he sat down on the edge of Laurent’s mattress and leaned his weight back on his palms. “Have you been thinking about my bedroom much?”

Laurent dropped down onto one of the couches at the side of his room, leveling him with a flat look. “Get over here,” he said. “The sooner we start, the sooner this is over.”

“So testy all of the time,” Damen said, crossing the room in long strides and sitting in the spot opposite Laurent. “Is there a reason you’re constantly so tense?” 

“Why?” Laurent asked as he leaned forward, close enough that he thought he might smell Damen’s cologne. “Do you think you could help me relax?”

It was a musky scent, masculine, more pungent than the clean scent Laurent preferred himself. Tinged with that was the faintest hint of sweat.

At the first parting of Damen’s lips, Laurent dropped down both of the books he’d picked off his shelf so they fell off his lap and onto the table.

“We need to pick a novel to work on,” Laurent said, Damen’s mouth closing. “Getting you out of here will relax me.”

The assignment was rather vague, which could have been taken as a positive, but really only meant they had more debating to do. They were to pick a novel on the teacher’s approved list of options, and from there were given a list of the terms: _Analytical, informational, argumentative, reflective, expressive._ The gist seemed to be to offer the audience a concise analysis of the entirety of the book, all the while incorporating every one of those elements in conjunction to things like plot, characters and themes. In addition to that, the report needed to be accompanied by a joined presentation.

It should be easy, Laurent told himself. It was a lot of detail, but it wasn’t the most difficult. It was more tedious than anything. They would be cursory, only focus on the things that mattered, and if they put their all into it they might even be done in less than two weeks.

It wasn’t easy. It was anything but. It was infuriatingly, gratingly difficult, because for some reason Damen couldn’t seem to listen to a single thing Laurent suggested without challenging every fucking word.

“Are you even listening to me?” Damen asked, throwing his pencil down. “I’m telling you, that won’t work.”

“Yes it will,” Laurent said, fingers tightening on his knee. “It relates to the book we read for class last semester, she’ll appreciate it if we-“

“Who cares about that book?” Damen said. “It’s in the past, we’re done with it.”

“Oh my god, you sound like a child,” Laurent said, capping the yellow highlighter in his hand. “You might not be aware of this, but not _everything_ is about simplicity-“

“It’s not about-“ Damen stopped, passing a hand down his mouth before lowering it to his lap. 

“I know this may be difficult for you to grasp coming from me,” he said, calmly. “Since I’m such a stupid jock, but we can’t go about it that way. If we want to target the theme of forgiveness, it will entirely contradict our earlier point of the first character. We either change the point of view in terms of characterization, or we have to change the book altogether.”

The clock on the wall ticked, a rhythmic _one, two, three_. Laurent looked back at him silently, feeling like he was waiting for some kind of a twist. He really wanted to glance down at his notes, but didn’t want it to seem like he was stubbornly trying to defend his – apparently moot -point.

Damen’s phone vibrated on the glass surface of the table, and he didn’t hesitate to pick it up and check the screen, swiping across it and typing back with one hand. He didn’t bother looking back at Laurent as he stood from his spot and began collecting his things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Laurent asked, feeling a little incredulous at the self-dismissal. 

“I think I’ve reached my quota of how much bonding I can take for the night,” he said, shouldering his bag and adjusting his collar. 

Laurent tried not to speak through his teeth. “We have more points to cover.”

“We have a whole semester of fun ahead of us,” he said, ripping a page out of his notebook and dropping it down on Laurent’s things before shoving the book away. “Read my notes on the opening chapter before our next session, I tried my best to write really neat and careful for you.”

Laurent fantasized about crumpling it up and throwing it at his head as he walked through the room, instead folding it down with a sharp swipe of his pinched fingers.

“See you second period,” Damen said over his shoulder, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

The halls at Artes were long and packed, constantly thronged with groups of students going this way and that, bags hitched high and books clutched to their chests. The hardwood floors, velvet curtains and mahogany lockers that were more like cabinets than anything made it feel like you were walking into a hotel or a country club rather a school, and the crest of a lion protruding from a starburst that hung down the wall in the center wing – the very same one that was etched into the pocket of everyone’s blazer – made everything feel all the more elite, like there was something far more grandiose going on than an attempt at gaining an education. 

Laurent was standing in front of his locker that morning, a few minutes before first bell with Vannes leaning on her side, looking at a small compact mirror as she licked her finger and smudged her eyeliner.

“She wants me to meet her parents,” she was saying, shutting the mirror with a _click._ “At the next brunch.”

“The one Torveld is hosting?” he asked as he replaced one of his books. 

“That’s the one.”

“And what exactly is the problem?”

She snapped her gum, lifting a pierced brow at him. The silver barbell caught Laurent’s attention every time because it reminded him of that one night they’d both been feeling impulsive. “Who said there was a problem?”

“I did,” Laurent replied. 

Someone rapped on the wooden locker then, two bangs of knuckle beside Laurent’s ear that set him on alert and had him turning around swiftly, mainly from the look that passed over Vannes’ face when she’d glanced over his shoulder inquiringly.

“Laurent,” Damen said in greeting, tilting his head in Vannes direction and grinning. “Vannes.”

Vannes blew out a pink bubble, chewing noisily when it eventually popped. As someone who was exclusively into women, she wasn’t the kind of person to easily succumb to something like a flexed arm. “Damen.”

“Do you mind if I talk to Laurent?” he asked.

“I mind,” Laurent said. He still had about forty more minutes of freedom from him.

“Sure,” Vannes said, ignoring the way Laurent looked at her. She tapped his shoulder twice, pushing off the wall. “See you in Health.”

Laurent watched her go, only turning to face Damen once she had turned the corner and was out of sight. “What.”

His playful look had gone with Vannes’ departure. “I have to be somewhere after class, I won’t have time to negotiate. What time are we meeting tonight?”

“Are you going to walk out like an indignant five year old again?” Laurent asked.

Damen didn’t acknowledge that. “My parents are throwing a fundraiser,” he said. “We need to meet at your place.”

Laurent didn’t see why it mattered either way. He shrugged, pulling out his math book. “Fine.”

Damen changed the way he leaned against the row of narrow doors, his white shirt pulling against his chest. They had a fairly strict dress code at Artes, dress shirts and dark blazers, never to be buttoned and never to be removed. The girls wore their pleated skirts somewhere around the knee, and the guys wore their pants pressed and smooth.

The dress code either didn’t apply to Damen, or he didn’t care enough to acknowledge that it did. The top button of his shirt was always one too open, his tie loose and undone so that a bit of his chest showed.

“Same time?” Damen asked.

Laurent shut his locker. “Yes.”

Damen watched him for a moment, nodding his head before he straightened himself. “Later.”

 

Laurent had been in the kitchen when Damen had arrived that night, and he was able to see his car drive down the cobblestone driveway from the large bay window that was over the sink, facing the statue that Damen circled his car around before pulling up beside one of his father’s cars. Laurent stayed where he was and watched Damen get out, waiting until he caught his eye before motioning his head to the side and opening one of the side entrances for him to go through rather walk around to the front of the house.

He heard Damen close the door behind him, throwing his keys down onto the counter beside a glass bowl of fruit. Neither of them did anything to fill the silence, the fact that nobody else was home only ensuring that there wasn’t even background noise coming from anywhere else. 

Laurent began to walk to the doorway that led into the hall, his things already in his room from when he had gotten home earlier. He heard a low, stifled sound beside him, something like a cross between a breath and a laugh as he turned his head.

“Wow,” Damen said, just as they took the first few steps up. “You’re hosting skills are as bad as your personable ones.”

“I’m hospitable with people I like,” Laurent said. 

“I’m extremely likable,” Damen said, turning the corner before Laurent and making for his bedroom door like it was his own.

His tone was light enough, but it did nothing to elevate the annoyance Laurent felt from the comment, the very same one that came whenever he saw the way people fawned over him, going out of their way to cross paths with him in the hall, in a classroom. Damen smiled at each person, setting his full attention on them like it was something special, like he thought everybody deserved the weight of his eyes or the flutter of his dark lashes.

“Humble, too,” Laurent said, nudging the door closed. “What a catch.”

“There’s nothing wrong with confidence,” Damen said, taking up the same spot from the previous night. “And at least I don’t try to hide it with a caustic personality.”

Oddly, that had to be one of the most amusing things Damen had said to him. He didn’t know why, but he knew it showed from the twitch of his lips. “You think I act the way I do to mask my self worth?”

“No.” Damen stretched his legs out. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine why you act the way you do.”

“Well,” Laurent dropped down in his spot. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t care what you think.”

Damen smiled thinly. “I guess so.”

Because their teacher was intent on making their lives even more miserable, she had told them all that day than in additional to everything else, they would be required to submit a comprehensive analysis on the author they chose to target, with a breakdown of common themes in their writing and how it related back to their life. 

They each took out all the notes they’d gathered, the ones Damen had left with him at the top of his pile. They were admittedly not bad, and Laurent wasn’t prideful enough to deny that. When he said as much, Damen had only shrugged his shoulders and wrote something else down, wordlessly. Not knowing what to do with that, Laurent reached for his phone and pulled up a site on their author.

That had apparently been as far as they could go being civil, because it wasn’t long after that they were at each other’s throats over things as simple as a comma usage. They were debating over a starting point, which angle would start things off the strongest when there was a knock on the door, whoever it was beginning to speak before the door was even fully pushed open.

“Laurent, where did you-“ Auguste said, stopping at the threshold. 

He had a hand still on the doorknob; one foot paused in front of the other. He was looking at Damen.

“Hi,” Damen said, nodding his head once. “I’m Damen.”

“Auguste,” he replied, letting go of the door and leaning a shoulder on it. He looked at Laurent, tilting his head.

“Did you need something?” Laurent asked. 

Auguste smiled, looking at him in that indicative way that only he could. He adjusted himself so that he looked even more comfortable. “Eager to get back to it?”

“No,” Laurent said, about a second before Damen did.

Auguste raised his hands. “Forget it,” he said to Laurent, stepping back. “Not important.” 

“It was nice to meet you,” Auguste said to Damen, closing the door after Damen returned the sentiment. Laurent rolled his pen between his fingers, Dame’s eyes remaining on the door for a few seconds before turning them on Laurent.

“Was that your brother?”

“Yes.”

Damen squinted, glancing at the door again. “He looks familiar. Does he go to Artes with us?”

Why were they having a conversation? Laurent ripped out a page that had too many cross outs on it, crumbling it up and tossing it into the garbage can. “He graduated a few years ago, you’ve probably seen his picture on the wall.”

“He’s nice,” Damen said.

Laurent didn’t say anything.

“He’s like a subtle, less bitchy version of you,” Damen continued. 

Laurent set his chin on his fist. “You’re saying that like it’s a good thing.”

“It’s certainly not a bad thing.”

“Right,” Laurent said, leaning his back on the couch. “I’ve seen your type, nice bores you.”

Damen stared back for a few seconds, his expression still like a sculpture before the mold cracked, starting with the twist of his lips and the set of his eyes. “What do you know about my type?”

“Please,” Laurent said. “You could at least pretend to have variety.”

It was like a crack that turned into a shatter, the way his grin was slowly spreading, transforming his entire demeanor into something calm, a little amused. “What exactly are you saying?” 

Laurent didn’t like the way he was looking at him, like he knew what he was seeing, or like he enjoyed it. Still, that didn’t stop him from holding his gaze, unflinching. Damen thought he was so smart, he could reach his own conclusions. 

Damen leaned his shoulders back, resting them on the backrest the same way Laurent had. “I don’t like things to be easy.”

His gaze didn’t change, and it was Laurent that looked away first, any possible response that had come to him being quickly accompanied by a wave of other thoughts, memories as to who this was he was talking to. He had the sudden, alarming thought that their brief lapse in conversation had only expanded their time together, and it was a few precious minutes that neither of them would get back. 

He leaned towards the table and grabbed the notebook where they’d been writing down possible themes, tossing it at Damen’s chest.

“Good,” he said, picking up the book. “Try channeling that mindset into your work.”

 

It was an unnaturally warm day for autumn, the sun beating into Laurent’s skin so that a few strands of hair stuck to his nape as he exited his car, his driver pulling away the moment the door was shut behind him. Laurent righted his blazer, thinking about what it would feel like to shed the tie looped tightly around his neck as he crossed the street, towards the large building that seemed to tower over everything.

Laurent had just went through the gate and was walking down the grass path that led to the courtyard when he felt a shadow fall beside him, Damen seeming to appear out of nowhere. His keys were still in his hand, he had to have parked when Laurent’s car pulled up.

“Good morning, princess,” he said.

“Not quite,” Laurent said, glancing around the quad as he tried to see if any of the guys were there. In the far distance, he thought he saw Jord and Orlant sitting on one of the round, cemented in tables. “I don’t prefer to start my days with you.”

“Imagine my dismay when you were the first thing I saw, getting out of my car,” Damen said.

It was definitely them, he could recognize the hat Orlant tended to wear as soon as the month changed, despite the fact that it felt like a spring morning.

“My condolences,” Laurent said, stopping in place. “What did you want?”

“How many things exactly do you think I have to talk to you about?” 

It was a fair point. “Just come at the same time as usual.”

“My parents are gone for the night,” Damen said. “Just come to my place tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t afford the gas money to keep driving to you.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. Damen shook his head, switching the strap of his bag to the opposite shoulder. “Not everything has an ulterior motive,” he said. “It just wouldn’t hurt to switch it up.”

When Laurent said nothing, the edge of Damen’s lips quirked in a way that showed his dimple. “Maybe I’m implementing your advice on variety.”

Laurent sighed. He really was like a child sometimes. He looked back to where Jord and Orlant were sitting, seeing that Rochert had joined them with his newest boyfriend. 

“Fine,” Laurent said, turning away. “Text me your address.”

 

Laurent was seated in the backseat of his limousine, one leg stretched out in front of him as his wrist dangled off his knee, fingers tapping a rhythmic beat on his leg. His head was tilted back as he looked out the sunroof, the clouds rolling over them as they made their way down Barbin Avenue, Auguste prattling on in his ear.

“I told you,” Laurent said for the second time. “It’s a term project.”

“Since when do you use partners for projects?” Auguste said on the other end. He could hear the sound of the fridge closing, water running in the background.

“It wasn’t optional.”

The sink went off. “Do I know him?”

He probably did know Damen. If Laurent was remembering correctly, he had an older brother who had been in Auguste’s year at Artes, and he had most likely met his parents at functions. 

Laurent inspected his nails. “Don’t think so.”

“Will I?” He asked, in a tone similar to the gaze he had that was reserved just for Laurent.

Laurent felt his features pinch, pulling the phone away so he could frown at it, as if Auguste’s face would appear on the screen. 

Auguste was speaking again, and Laurent brought the phone back to his ear in time to catch, “-because I’ve seen him.”

“Sir,” Hector said, tipping his hat when Laurent met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’ve arrived.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said, touching the handle. 

“I need to go,” he said into the receiver. “I’m here.”

“Tell me about it when you get home?”

“I guarantee you,” Laurent said stepping out of the car and pushing the door behind him. “There will be nothing to tell.”

Damen’s house appeared to be of about the same magnitude as Laurent’s, though it was significantly different in overall appearance. The entirety of it seemed to be made of wide steps and white marble, as if it were meant to be a recreation of Akielon architecture. A large, circle fountain was in the center of the cemented entrance, rows of flowers and bushes lining every walkway that seemed to wind in through different directions.

He took the few steps up to the main door, immediately glancing around for the camera that he was sure would be there. When he spotted it high up at his top right, he looked straight into the lens as he curled his fingers around the brass knocker and banged twice, waiting.

He expected to be buzzed in, or at the very least greeted by a butler or a maid, but after less than a minute it was Damen that pulled the door open, looking at Laurent from the other side of the step.

“Is it your job to open the doors here?” He asked, stepping around Damen and into the foyer. 

Damen shut the door, giving Laurent a dry look. “Sometimes when we’re apart I think I’m exaggerating you in my mind, and then I see you again.”

“I’m not surprised you spend your time thinking about me,” Laurent said.

He watched as Damen’s eyes moved down his body, slowly, like hot oil dripping down your chest. By the time he raised his gaze Laurent was turned away, his neck hot.

The inside of the house was much like the outside, if not a bit more modern. Floor to ceiling windows that had them mostly surrounded by glass, a circle staircase that winded up what looked to be multiple floors. At the far end of the house, he could see what looked like an entire field of grass.

“Where to?” Laurent said.

Damen was already walking to the staircase, his bare feet silent on the ground. He had removed his blazer, and he saw that the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up his forearms.

“I’ve been in your bedroom,” Damen said, catching Laurent’s eye over his shoulder. “I can’t deny you the pleasure of being in mine.”

It took less time to get to Damen’s room than it did Laurent’s, the middle floor having less hallways and turns. There was a golden framed mirror hanging on one of the walls, their reflections showing for a brief moment before he pushed a door open, waiting for Laurent to step inside first.

It was a little larger than Laurent’s room, though that could have just seemed that way from the openness of it all, the curtains all pulled apart so that light streamed in from every direction, a lap pool visible from his vantage. 

The bed was the first thing that caught Laurent’s attention, probably because of its enormous size, and the fact that it was covered crimson satin sheets as if he were a middle-aged bachelor.

“Your bed is ridiculous,” Laurent said.

“Says the guy who has a fucking canopy over his,” Damen said. He took a seat, hovering over the spot for a second so he could take his phone out of his back pocket before settling down. “Sit.”

They pulled out all of their worksheets, spreading them out on the table and marking the parts they would focus on that session. Laurent had made a list of crossovers between two opposing characters that day during his free block that they could possibly consider, and Damen took it from him without question, pushing a folder of his own into Laurent’s hands. When Laurent opened it, he saw that Damen had done something similar. 

“This doesn’t work,” Laurent said some time later, tapping the tip of his pen on a bullet point near the end of the list. “It contradicts what we decided last night.”

“Then cross it out,” Damen said without looking up, flipping a page.

Laurent found two more things with a similar error, and he didn’t ask that time as he clicked his pen and drew a line through them. When he looked up the second time, he saw Damen watching his hand move with a pointed stare. 

“Problem?” Laurent said.

“Other than your own list?” Damen asked. “Not really.”

Laurent grabbed the book from the mess on the table, pushing himself up. “I never said you can’t make changes,” he said as he walked around the couches and towards the more open area of the room, opening to the spot Damen had bookmarked. 

“Good,” Damen replied. “I was worried I hurt your feelings.”

Laurent flicked his eyes up, unmoved by the drawl of his voice as he placed his thumb by a certain line. Damen had set down his papers and was slumped back in his spot with his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pushed into his hair. 

Laurent turned around, pacing the length of the floor as he read through some of their annotations. His finger moved down the words as he read, his mind already thinking about how they could tie direct quotes into their presentation without seeming robotic about it.

“How about you do something useful instead of just looking at me,” Laurent said.

He heard a rip, the sound of a page being crumpled. “Are you sure I’m capable?” Damen asked, a _swoosh_ sound followed by rustling paper. “I might fuck things up.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Laurent said. A bird landed on a branch outside the window, its wings stilling as it began to chirp.

“What,” Damen said. “To take perfectly good work and titivate it for no reason?”

“It’s not for _no reason,_ you-“ 

He snapped the book shut with one hand and turned, and was surprised to find how close Damen was, leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed. Laurent hadn’t even heard him get up, which was a shock considering how oafishly he moved.

“This isn’t a middle school book report,” Laurent said, dropping the book on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. “We need to be elaborate about it.”

“That’s fine,” Damen said, spreading his hands out at his sides with a shake of his head. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what _is_ your problem?”

“My problem,” Damen said, stepping forward. “Is that you are way too focused on looking at everything like some bigger picture, and that it’s hindering every single move you make.”

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about me?”

“I know what I see,” Damen said. “And I know you’re way too uptight to just let things flow and see where they take you.”

He spoke simply, assuredly, like what he was saying was no more that a statement, a theory that had already been proven. He was looking down at Laurent like his point had been made and the ball had been placed in his court, and he was now waiting for Laurent’s rebuff.

If there was one thing Laurent didn’t like, it was being doubted. Being treated like he could never live up to a challenge, like all elements of him were predetermined and he was born to fail, to underwhelm. Maybe that was why he liked to shock people at times. Perhaps there was something deeper to be said for why he tended to take the more complicated route, the more unexpected route.

So, he did the most unexpected thing he could think of, the one thing that he definitely would never do, had he not been trying to prove a point. He took Damen’s face in his hands and kissed him on the mouth.

He felt the faintest scratch of stubble against his palms, a distinct difference from the soft lips against his. That was the first thing he noted, followed by the way Damen stilled against him, his jaw almost stiff in surprise.

He pulled away eventually, his hands dropping with the sound of their lips separating. He felt the distinct need to press his own lips together like that would soothe the sudden buzzing of them, but felt held in place by the look on Damen’s face.

He thought to say something, or to back away, not used to being in such an unknown situation where he didn’t have the next step planned out. His tongue traced his top lip, his heart hammering.

But he didn’t get a chance to speak, and then he _was_ stepping back, Damen’s hands on his hips as he pushed him into the thick beam of the bed and kissed him back.

Laurent felt the rigid bumps against his back, digging into his skin as their chests pressed together, one of Damen’s thighs pushing between his own. Laurent’s lips parted from the feel of it, but the firm grip of Damen’s hands on his waist stopped him from shifting into it.

Laurent tried to reach up, though whether that was to push him off or not was up for debate because Damen intercepted his hand, his fingers tight on his skin as he pressed it above Laurent’s head.

It was the same with his second hand, and Laurent felt the grip of his wrists being restrained like it was in his stomach, clenching hotly inside him. There wasn’t much he could do with his arms held up above him, nothing but to stand there and take it as Damen licked his way into his mouth.

“Figures you would be scared of someone else taking control,” Laurent said against him, taking Damen’s bottom lip between his own.

With that Damen let go of him, jarringly, releasing his hold without hesitation, though it took a few seconds before he stepped back, enough that Laurent could move if he wished but not so far that he couldn’t see the way he was breathing. He looked back at Laurent, his chest moving as he stood there in heavy silence, his hands at his side as he waited for Laurent to speak, to act.

Laurent did, both of his hands moving to Damen’s chest as he shoved him, hard, enough for Damen to stumble against the bed before he fell down on the mattress, a breath of air rushing out of him from the impact of his back hitting the bed.

He stayed there like that, his legs having fallen halfway apart as he held himself like he was unsure what to do, what that said about how Laurent felt. His hands pressed into the bedding, and he seemed to be a second away from pushing himself when Laurent pressed a knee onto the bed and threw a leg over his waist, taking both of his upturned hands in his.

“Stay,” Laurent said as he pushed his hands down beside his neck, not saying anything else as he lowered his head and took his mouth again.

Damen’s mouth opened against his easily, not feigning any disinterest as he kissed Laurent back with equal enthusiasm, bordering on force. His interest was as evident from the way he kissed as it was from the way he felt pressed between Laurent’s legs, the sound he made only further proving itself when Laurent rolled his hips down.

He felt resistance strain against his wrist where he was holding his hands down, another sound from deep in his throat as Damen pulled his mouth out from his. 

“Let me,” Damen said.

“Let you what?”

He felt Damen push his hips up, two small movements that had Laurent pressing his lips together, his thighs tightening around him. Damen felt it; his eyes steady on Laurent’s as he did it again, slower.

The grip Laurent had around him faltered enough that Damen was able to remove his hand, seizing the opportunity to take hold of Laurent’s tie that had been hanging down above him, curling it in his fist and pulling Laurent down into him, his other hand going around his body.

Laurent’s hands flattened against the sheets as Damen angled his head, the tug of the tie tight on the back of his neck. He felt Damen’s other hand move, pushing at his side a few times until Laurent felt his shirt give, the bottom coming out of where they had been tucked in his pants so that he could get his hand inside.

Laurent felt his palm smooth along his back, the calluses rough against his skin. He felt impatient suddenly, too hot, and he was shoving at Damen’s hand that was holding them together so that he could bring his hands to his own collar, working the tie loose and off.

Damen’s hands moved to the front of his shirt, clumsily tugging and yanking so that he almost tore a button off, something like a gnarl leaving him when they didn’t automatically succumb to his efforts. His hair was a mess, tangled curls falling around him.

“Animal,” Laurent said, swatting a hand away again and pulling them apart himself. “You’ll rip it.”

“Can’t afford a new shirt?” Damen asked as Laurent yanked it off and away, leaving him bare chested above him. He slid a hand up Laurent’s side. “I didn’t realize you were struggling.”

Laurent was about to reply when he felt Damen’s hand pause, and he watched the way his eyes flicked and lowered like doing a double take, finally going quiet when he saw the two small, silver balls that glinted in the light.

Damen raised his eyes, his pupils a little widened as he brushed a hand against his stomach.

“Uptight Laurent,” he said, his fingers just skimming the curved barbell. “Who knew.”

“No talking,” Laurent said, kissing him to stop whatever comment he was about to make. He felt His lips curve in a smile.

“Take this off,” Laurent said against his mouth as he pushed at Damen’s shirt, evidently moving back and doing it himself when Damen didn’t work quick enough. He was much less forgiving than he had been with his own clothing, tugging a little harder than necessary in hopes of ripping a seam or two.

Laurent ran his hands up Damen’s abdomen when he was finally undressed, though he didn’t get farther than his chest when Damen pushed him off by the shoulder, roughly enough that he bounced a little when he fell on his back.

Damen rolled on top of him before he could protest, his own hands spanning against Laurent like he had just done to him. His hands stilled near the top, lips slightly parted as he rubbed his thumbs around Laurent’s nipples, a nail pressing down in a way that Laurent felt it shoot through his spine, just stopping his back from arching off the bed.

Laurent gave himself a moment to think about who this was, to consider what exactly it was that he was doing. He was sure to regret this in the morning, a part of him already regretting it, but he couldn’t seem to hold himself from back.

This was Damen. Frustrating, arrogant Damen who Laurent could barely stand to be in the same room as, and usually made him feel like tugging his own hair out after one conversation. This was the person that managed to get under his skin with his stupid grin and equally stupid comments, but with his leg being raised to wrap around Damen’s middle and the feel of his chest against his, Laurent couldn’t bring himself to care.

He felt the graze of teeth nip at his lower lip, gently, as if afraid to hurt him too much. Laurent tilted his head so their mouths fit together, biting down considerably harder when he felt Damen’s lips begin to part.

“Bitch,” Damen said against his mouth, hitching Laurent’s thigh up higher when Laurent soothed the spot with his tongue.

His hands went to the button of Laurent’s pants, slipping his fingers into the waistband and tugging them down along with his underwear, only stopping at his ankles to remove Laurent’s shoes and socks before tossing them behind his back carelessly, one of them knocking into the table.

“Asshole,” Laurent said, shoving Damen with his foot after he’d peeled his pants off the rest of the way. “They’re expensive.”

Damen grabbed his foot and pressed a kiss to the inside of his ankle, stilling Laurent for a moment like a rope pulled to tight before he released him, moving up his body so his arms were braced on either side of him. Laurent was entirely naked, and Damen didn’t shy away in taking his fill as he looked at every part of him, his gaze instinctively lingering as they lowered. 

He brought one hand to himself, but rather undo his button or work his zipper down, he pressed the heel of his hand between his legs and groaned softly, lowering himself onto one elbow so his lips hovered right above Laurent’s, brushing them together.

This was taking too long. There was no reason for them to linger, and Laurent needed for him to undress the rest of the way and fuck him already so they could be done with their brief lapse in judgment and he could begin the regretful stage of things.

He shifted up, replacing Damen’s hand with his and rubbing purposefully, Damen’s head dipping the rest of the way so Laurent felt his moan vibrate down his throat, shocks pulsing through his lungs. 

When Damen was finally naked, Laurent felt his own expression flicker as he forced his body to unclench, heat already building low in his stomach as his breathing grew shallow, Damen watching his every move.

Laurent met his stare. “Get on with it.”

It didn’t surprise Laurent for a second when Damen moved up the bed and reached into a side table, retracting a slim bottle of lube with the same instinctive ease as anything you would reach for each night. He gazed at Damen flatly when he moved back into his space, ignoring the way the side of his lips lifted.

“I don’t see you complaining,” Damen said, popping the cap off with his teeth.

He felt Damen’s slick fingers between his thighs within seconds, his eyes not straying from the place he was tracing, rubbing the edge in slow circles. Unwilling to ask for it, Laurent pressed his lips together and moved down, desire flaring when Damen’s free hand moved to his hip to hold him in place.

His eyes closed when he finally felt the first press in, the heels of his feet pushing into the bed as he felt Damen’s finger move in an out, a steady slide that felt thick and tight and not nearly enough to sate the gnawing he felt inside. 

“Fuck, you’re-“ Damen said in a low exhale, but he didn’t finish the sentence, instead opting to add a second finger in, moving quicker than he had before. Laurent’s cheek was resting on the pillow, every bit of sensation and concentration focused on that one place where Damen was stretching him, unyielding.

He hardly noticed when Damen moved up his body, one hand still between his legs as he leaned down and kissed Laurent openly, everything about it a mess of teeth and panting breaths. Laurent’s hands had pushed into Damen’s hair, tugging on his curls as he angled his fingers inside him, hands sliding down his neck so he could hold onto his shoulders, warm and taut against him.

Laurent’s fingers grappled when he pushed in deeper, curving in so he could hold him tighter. He heard a sharp, roughened sound like a hiss through his teeth, and Laurent smiled against him as he scraped his nails down his back. As a result, Damen pushed a third finger in.

“Enough,” Laurent eventually ground out. “You take forever to prep.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Damen pulled his fingers out, bringing a hand beneath Laurent’s side and flipping him over, the palm of his hand landing down on the back of his thigh as he fell onto his stomach. The area of skin stung in a way that caused Laurent’s breath to hitch in his throat, toes curling in.

He heard the sound of a condom wrapper tearing as he gripped the sheet, lifting himself onto his elbows and pushing onto his knees, his pulse beating like a throb inside his neck.

Damen gripped his hips tightly, and Laurent had to bite down on his lip when he used the grip to pull him backwards effortlessly, moving Laurent into him until he felt the head of his cock positioned against him, thick and hard.

There was a little resistance, a few shifts forward where Laurent could feel the breath ribboning out of him, the same sounds coming much louder and heavier from behind him. Damen’s hand smoothed down his spine, stopping on the place where they were meant to interlock.

And then it was happening, Laurent’s body opening for him so that Damen slid in with one long, deep push. He pulled back a little, slowly, all the way until it was just the tip, staying that way for a second before he moved the rest of the way in. His hips were pressed against Laurent’s, his breathes hitting in rasps against his neck, and Laurent thought, _fuck._

He expected him to move, to push Laurent down into the bed and fuck into him at his own pleasure, whatever way he wanted. Instead he felt Damen’s fingers, phantom light, grazing the line of his shoulder like a breeze. 

“Okay?” Damen asked, his voice like a shattered vase. 

“Are _you_ okay?” Laurent rebutted, spreading his legs a little wider so that Damen sunk in more, his face warming with satisfaction when he felt the way Damen’s forehead fell against his nape. “Are you sure you’ll last?”

The moment stretched, the aching silence breaking with a muttered string of words that Laurent couldn’t hear, the pounding in his ears too much for anything else to penetrate. He felt Damen’s fingers bite into his skin painfully, and that was all the response he needed as Damen changed his grip, using it as leverage to begin moving.

Laurent felt the breath knock out of him with the first push, a gradual pull back that came forward quicker than he was expecting, too fast for him to register before it was happening again, a second time turning into a third. He heard the bed creak as Damen straightened himself up so he was behind him on his knees, and then he began to really move.

Each time was the same, equally timed thrusts that jolted Laurent’s body forward with contact, his legs shifting slightly to take the weight as Damen built up a steady pace, his hands holding Laurent in place so he could move inside him again, and again.

Laurent’s head was hanging low, unable to do anything else. He searched for what he would normally do, any quip or easy remark that usually left him as easily as his breathes when it came to Damen, and found that he couldn’t do a single thing but feel the way Damen moved inside him, filling him more with each snap of his hips.

He was admittedly bigger than Laurent had expected him to be, and he could feel the way his body struggled to take all of him, the way he clenched around Damen’s cock each time he drove into him, the broken sounds Damen made with every impact of their bodies echoing inside his head like they were becoming ingrained there.

It was almost too much, and it was exactly what Laurent needed. His elbows shook with the pressure of it all, his thighs trembling as Damen’s hands gripped him there, spreading Laurent apart farther so that he fucked him at a deeper angle, his loud, drawn out moan thankfully covering Laurent’s.

“Laurent,” Damen said, his voice deeper than he had yet to hear it, richer. “You feel- You’re so-“ 

He needed to be quiet. All Laurent wanted to do was feel; he didn’t need any reminders of who it was that was making him experience this.

“Shut up,” Laurent said, arching just a little.

The mattress shifted again as Damen leaned himself down, one arm going tightly around Laurent, his other remaining on the juncture between hip and thigh. Laurent’s lips were parted, his eyelids hooding when he felt Damen’s fingers wrap around his cock.

“You don’t like me,” Damen said, not a question.

“No,” Laurent agreed. Damen’s thumb made a slow, wet circle, pulling a sigh out of Laurent.

“You don’t like to think of me.” His lips found the back of his ear, his teeth tugging on his earlobe sharply.

“Yes,” Laurent breathed.

Damen’s hand moved slowly, steadily, nothing like the quick pounding of his hips that was driving their bodies together without pause.

“You won’t be able to think about anything else tomorrow,” Damen said into his ear, and it was two more thrusts before Laurent was coming, his shoulders shaking as his hips jerked, his mind going hazy as he felt himself liquefy into a pile of melted down limbs.

Damen didn’t give him a second to recover, his movements relentless as Laurent tried to regain his breath. Damen was speaking again, he could just make out the unchecked sound of his voice, falling from his lips as he pressed his face into Laurent’s nape and came inside him.

Laurent’s face was in the pillow, each breath feeling like a gasp of air as the euphoria of release washed off of him, everything slowly shifting back into focus. The sound of the birds outside the window, the strain on his muscles, the heavy weight of another body collapsed down on his.

Laurent didn’t know if to call the sensation settling in him panic, but it certainly wasn’t the most pleasant one. He wasn’t sure how long everything had lasted, but every single minute of it was coming back in fragments, each one only horrifying him further so that he began to question how he could have just done something so stupid.

“Get off of me,” Laurent said, pushing himself up and nudging until he felt Damen move. He repressed a wince as he felt him pull out, holding any sound or flinch back from view. He held still until the creaking of the mattress stopped, waiting until he heard the condom get thrown into the trash before he turned over onto his back.

He could feel Damen sprawled out beside him, the length of his arm thrown over his head just in Laurent’s peripheral vision as he inhaled, running a hand down his face and struggling to think. He could think about ten different smug expressions or comments that were waiting right beside him, and none of them mattered because they couldn’t possibly measure up to how it felt to have this mistake dawn on him.

“Oh, God,” Laurent said into his hands, squeezing the skin around his eyes.

Damen didn’t say anything, but he made a low sound in his throat that almost sounded content, which was enough to threaten the rise of bile in his throat. 

Laurent pushed himself up off the bed, not paying any mind to the lounged out body as he turned his back, grabbing for his underwear the instant he saw it and yanking it on, pulling the pants on just as quick.

“Need help?” Damen asked, followed by the sound of the mattress squeaking. Laurent threw a look over his shoulder as he shoved an arm through the sleeve and saw Damen with an elbow on his pillow, his cheek on his palm. He wasn’t in any hurry to turn over or cover himself, and Laurent needed to get the fuck out of there.

“You overrate yourself,” Laurent said sharply. He didn’t bother tucking his shirt in, starting at the buttons at the bottom and working his way up. “And you’re not touching me.”

Damen smiled at him lazily, his eyes a little hooded as he dropped his hand down, resting his head on the pillow so he was watching him even more comfortably. “Too late for that, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, _God_ ,” Laurent said again. He threw the tie around his neck and left it like that, looking around for his shoes.

“I should be offended you didn’t say that earlier,” Damen said, rearranging the sprawl of his legs. “I’ll just make it happen next time.”

Laurent felt his entire stomach drop down, something acidic crawling up his throat as he looked at Damen, warm and large and pleased. He pushed his feet into his shoes, trying to piece together where exactly he’d gone so wrong.

“There won’t _be_ a next time,” he said, collecting all of his things and shoving them into his bag. He tucked his blazer under his arm as he looked around to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, other than his dignity. 

He saw the faintest stirrings of another grin on Damen’s face. “Sure.” 

Laurent made sure to slam the door shut behind him, pleased no one else was home to see however it was he looked. As he made his way for the stairs and tried not to sprint, he thought for the second time, _fuck._

 

Laurent liked to generally believe that he was a good person. He could be a bit much at times, but he usually meant well. He tried to do the right thing, and though it wasn’t always proven true, he liked to think that good things happened to good people. He was either a very bad person, or the entire philosophy was bullshit because there was no other explanation as to why he had woken up to a world where he’d willingly had sex with Damen.

But even if Laurent wasn’t always a good person, he most definitely was a _smart_ person. Or so he thought, because what else could have driven him into doing such a senseless, impulsive thing?

It couldn’t have even been chalked up to an impulsive decision. Impulse indicated that it was something wanted, something craved that you couldn’t help but give into in that one crucial moment. But Laurent didn’t- he _couldn’t-_

Laurent took a large bite out of his carrot stick, chewing it for a few seconds before he thought _fuck this,_ dropping it onto his tray and reaching for his slice of cake instead.

Orlant was talking; something about a party or a dinner. He wasn’t sure how long he had zoned out but he figured it best if he checked himself back into the conversation, even if he wasn’t particularly interested. Any distraction would serve. 

“Are we riding together?” Jord asked, lifting a spoonful of rice to his mouth.

Orlant turned to him. “Is your car free?”

Laurent still wasn’t sure what exactly the event was, but he knew they would end up asking his limousine regardless. So long as Laurent was in attendance, that was how they tended to go. “Yes.”

Lazar was busy fastening his tie beneath his collar, having just come back from somewhere around the bushes. His top button was in the wrong hole. “Who’s bringing drinks?”

“It’s our principal’s sixtieth birthday,” Jord said, frowning. So it was the dinner the school was throwing for Herode that Saturday. “We’re not getting drunk.”

“Why not?” Rochert took a bite out of his wrap. 

Vannes set her tray down on the other side of Laurent, Talik shortly after her. “Are we talking about Herode’s dinner?”

“We are,” Orlant said, grinning appreciatively at Talik.

“Where is it?” Laurent asked.

“The Summer Palace hotel, I think,” Jord replied.

A loud call rang out, followed by a few shouts that disturbed the silence around the tables where everyone was eating. Laurent glanced up to see a few of the football players dispersing around the field, some running back to the benches. He felt his fingers digging into his knee under the table, pushing up and away before a decision had even been made.

Orlant watched him rise with a skeptical look. He eyed Laurent’s half unfinished tray of food. “Where are you going?”

“Library,” Laurent said. He picked his bag off the ground and looped it over his shoulder, grabbing his phone. “I’ll see you in class.”

He turned around, straightening his back as he began to walk back to the direction of the building. It was tall enough that one would need to tilt their head back to see the top of the building, and too wide to be seen in one glance. The dark stone was offset by the bright green grass around it, long steps leading to the entrance were double doors waited.

“Morning, beautiful.”

Laurent’s steps faltered, pausing in despair when he heard the voice, breathing out of his nose. He turned his head, Damen crossing the path that separated them with his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t in his football gear, but Laurent wasn’t about to ask him about it. He watched him approach, waiting for him to reach Laurent before he turned and continued walking the other way.

“Hey now,” Damen said, quickening his pace enough to match his stride. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Can’t have that,” Laurent said.

Damen knocked his elbows into Laurent’s, pulling his gaze down to the sliver of space that separated him. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“I’m going to the library,” Laurent said, turning again as they reached the steps. “So I could get some of our project done, since you’re obviously useless.”

Damen leaned his back on the cement rail; flat in a way that one could lift themselves on it and sit. A flowerpot rested on top of it.

“I’m not entirely useless, am I?” He said. 

When Laurent ignored him, Damen adjusted his features so they were a bit more serious, though his body was still arranged carelessly. “Really,” he said. “We need to make leeway.” 

Laurent didn’t bother mentioning that he was technically the first one to stop working yesterday, and that the first day had ended short because he’d gotten up and left. And they _did_ need to make progress, so he only said, “my house, same time.”

He turned towards the steps, not waiting for a response before he began to take them two at a time.

 

“Sir,” Radel said, knocking on Laurent bedroom door that had been wedged open. Laurent looked up from his bed where he was sitting in the center, one leg pulled under the other, his book propped up on his knee. “Your guest has arrived. Would you like to let him in yourself?”

Laurent felt his expression sour. “Send him up.”

Laurent was nearly finished with his chapter, and he wasn’t in the habit of stopping when he was in the middle of something. He rubbed the corner of the page between his fingers before he turned, the door opening just as he started from the top.

“Look how familiar we’ve gotten,” Damen said, the sound of a bag dropping. “I’m just walking around your place like it’s mine.”

“Quiet,” Laurent said. “I’m reading.”

“Reading,” Damen repeated. When Laurent didn’t look up from the paragraph he said, “Did you just bring me here to stare at you?”

“No, you do that anyway,” Laurent replied, finally coming to the end of the chapter. He shut the book, looking up to see Damen standing at the foot of his bed. He felt a muscle in his jaw clench.

Damen noticed, of course. He made it clear than he noticed, but Laurent was hardly in the mood for quips or innuendos, and he just wanted to feel like there was a slight possibility they could get this project done, which thus far wasn’t looking too probable.

He pointed to the sitting area. “Go.”

Damen didn’t need to smile for Laurent to hear the implication in his voice. “Are you implementing space?” he said, but he went nonetheless, taking the spot on the single couch and pulling his bag on his lap. Laurent did the same, pulling everything he needed out and spreading it out in front of him.

Laurent looked between both of their notebooks and papers, rubbing his temple before lowering his hand. “How about this,” he said. “We each write a page of information and ideas, and we can swap when we’re done. We both get to mark what we would keep and what we would change, no arguments.”

“Fine,” Damen said. He immediately wrote something at the top, so quick that Laurent doubted it could have been anything but his name, or the date.

Laurent turned his attention to his own paper, not hesitating to bring the point to the sheet and begin. He thought of what he’d researched on the author in the library during lunch, pulling out the articles he’d printed and setting them beside them. He heard the scribble of a pen as he did, in a speed that closely resembled his own.

More than once Laurent glanced out of the corner of his eye, seeing the way the fabric of the blazer strained over hunched shoulders, his foot tapping as he wrote something down. Laurent brought the cap of the pen to his mouth, going back to his list.

They worked. Damen’s phone rang twice throughout it, but each time he had silenced it after a few seconds of some song he didn’t recognized played, short enough like he had simply checked the screen for a name before rejecting the call. Laurent didn’t know if this was working, if what they were doing would make combining their efforts more manageable, but he had found a way to get Damen to stay silent, so it was a success as far as Laurent was concerned.

Laurent was halfway down the second page, just starting a new bullet point when that serenity was taken away from him.

“Are we really pretending it didn’t happen?”

Laurent lifted his eyes slowly, Damen bent over in a similar way so he could reach the low coffee table before him. He was rolling his pen between thumb and forefinger, watching him.

Laurent leaned back. Capped his pen. Lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s pretending anything?”

Damen rolled his eyes, tossing his own pen down on the table. “You know what I mean.”

“I can’t say I do,” Laurent said. “Have I made a contradictory statement?”

“Oh my God,” Damen said, and Laurent had an unwelcome memory of Damen’s previous reference to similar words. “Do you talk the same in every context?”

“What a stupid question,” Laurent said. 

Damen stood from his spot, and Laurent reminded himself to stay still, to not make any jerks of movements that could be interpreted into what they were clearly not. He came forward, seeming much taller this way with Laurent looking up at him, seated on his bed. 

He stopped by Laurent side, his legs touching the mattress as he peered down at him with an indecipherable expression. 

“We fucked,” he said, blankly. It was something blunt that Laurent would say, he hadn’t expected it from him. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Who’s making it a big deal?” Laurent asked. “You’re the one who feels the need to talk about it.”

“You’re so-“ Damen pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, puffing out air. When he dropped them to his sides, he was looking at him differently.

“Let’s just be up front about it, so we can have everything out in the open,” he said.

Laurent looked at him carefully. “Why.”

“So we can get past the trepidation and do it again,” Damen said.

Laurent stared up at him, momentarily silenced. It took longer than he would have liked for him to find his voice. “What?”

“Which part was unclear?”

Laurent shook his head, bewildered. “I already told you,” he said. “It’s not happening _again._ ”

“Why not?” Damen asked. “We’re young. We’re single. We both obviously enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t-“ Laurent started, and stopped. He understood implications; he would never say something false that could be misinterpreted in such a negative way. Instead he focused on the rest of it, the other points that he could confidently counteract. 

“The two of us don’t not do that because of our age,” Laurent said, as evenly as he could. “Or because of our relationship status. It’s because I don’t like you.”

Damen shrugged, nonchalantly. “I don’t like you either. Doesn’t mean I don’t like fucking you.”

Laurent’s mouth gaped just for a second before he snapped it shut, reminding himself who this was. He was resolute in keeping his expression neutral, but that decision was quickly challenged when Damen brought a knee to the bed, presumptuously. 

“What are you-“

“Come on,” Damen said, the second knee joining the first so he was sitting across from Laurent, still a little higher up than him from their different positions. “We can have fun, and no one will have to know.”

Laurent observed his stance, the straight line of his dark brows and the assured look on his face. Damen was there, on his bed with him, and Laurent had yet to shove him off. That in itself presented a host of problems, and did nothing to ease the sensation of standing at the edge of a precipice.

“I really don’t like you.”

Damen didn’t look too disturbed by that. “Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.”

Laurent tapped on his thigh, unable to believe that he was actually giving this thought. He wasn’t being sardonic; there really was no shortage of things that annoyed him about Damen. There was quite a collection of options that he could chose from, but somewhere around the top would have to be how much Laurent was actually considering this.

He had been mostly able to forget his vexations with Damen the previous day, unable to think about much else when he was inside him, and that was good. He couldn’t quite pass up the opportunity to have that removed from his mind, even if it was just temporary.

It was just sex. Laurent was entitled to good sex; he would be able to suspend his cognitive dissonance one more time, maybe two.

Laurent squared his jaw. “Fine.”

He saw Damen’s brows raise slightly, lips twitching like he hadn’t been expecting that, despite how confident he seemed about the entire deal. “Fine?”

He would need to get used to repeating things “That’s what I said.”

Damen leaned back on his heels, seeming to luxuriate in the idea of it, in the prospect of what Laurent said had meant. He took in every part of him, a sort of fervent zeal settling over him.

“All right,” Damen said. “Kiss me.” 

Laurent blinked, ignoring the odd twitch he felt in his gut. “Excise me?”

“Please,” Damen said, leaning his body back on this palms so the buttons on his shirt tensed. “You know you like to feel like you’re taking the reins. Come kiss me.” 

Laurent briefly considered implementing a no kissing rule, but the thought was quickly dispensed when he looked at his lips, full and slightly parted. He remembered how they felt against him, and decided he could hate himself later for how much he’d liked it.

He didn’t say anything as he pushed up onto his own knees, moving everything aside with a swipe of his hand so that his book clattered to the floor, papers rustling against each other. He wasn’t about to lean over Damen or reach for him, so he grabbed the end of his tie, looping it once around his wrist so he could pull him in, pressing their mouths together.

Damen didn’t hesitate to bring his hands to Laurent’s hips as he tugged harder on the fabric, his other hand moving up his neck so he could grip the skin there. Laurent’s initial disposition of wanting to stay in place didn’t seem to matter to him, because it was just a few seconds of kissing before Damen winded his arms around him, using the new hold to pull Laurent in and on top of him.

Laurent felt his breath skip in his throat as they were pressed together, one of Damen’s palms pressing against the small of his back so he arched against him, unintentionally. His hands were moving up the back of his dress shirt beneath the blazer, strong hands dragging up and down his body in a way that had him tightening his legs around him reflexively.

He heard Damen groan, the sensitive skin of his lips vibrating with it as he pulled his lower lip between his own, Laurent taking his top one immediately after. At some point throughout this his jacket had been pushed off but he was otherwise fully dressed, Damen’s mouth moving along his jaw in open kisses.

“Can I blow you?” Damen said by his ear, sliding his hands up the inside of his thighs.

Laurent stilled, his own lips wet and parted as he pulled back slightly, the darkened size of Damen’s eyes making him tighten his hold around his arm without meaning to.

He licked his lips. “Seriously?” 

Damen made a humming sound in his throat, kissing Laurent again for a few seconds where he cupped the back of his head, fingers pushing painfully in his hair as he tilted his head back, pressing his lips against the edge of his mouth, his chin. He felt his teeth graze the side of his neck.

Laurent breathed in once. “I won’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Damen said, his hand still rubbing him. He kissed him harder, speaking against his mouth. “I just want to suck your cock.” 

Laurent kissed him back, curling his fingers into his hair so he had a good hold of him, keeping his face in place so he could have him as he liked, letting their tongues touch before he pulled his head down to his neck.

Damen went with it easily, Laurent’s head falling back as he kissed his collarbone, his chest, nearly demanding in each press of his mouth as he brought his hands to his shoulders, pushing Laurent down onto his back with a sudden burst of impatience that left him breathless, looking up at the ceiling with his hands at his sides.

Damen moved down his body so he was at the foot of the bed, hunched over his legs and resting on his knees. Even fully clothed it was possible to see the ripple in his arms and shoulders from the way he was holding himself, and Laurent felt something entirely different curl in his stomach as anticipation coursed through him, cheeks feeling hot as Damen’s hands went to his button. 

He was unforgiving with the agile movements of his fingers, nothing gentle about the way he popped the button open and pulled the zipper down, the sound ringing out in the quit room like a hiss of air, rolling through Laurent’s body.

He pulled the bottom of Laurent’s shirt out of the waistband then, unexpectedly, pushing it up his chest the few inches that was needed to expose a sliver of his skin, the smoother muscles of his abdomen on clear display. Damen’s head was bowed, his eyes blocked from the tilt of his forehead and the larger curls falling down in front of his face, just shy of brushing Laurent. He brought a hand down, fingertips brushing his stomach in a light sweep that felt like wasps flapping just below the place he was touching.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Damen said, low, a deep rumble that became something physical as he dipped his head the rest of the way and kissed the spot beside it, above it, spreading his lips around his bellybutton and lapping his tongue along it, his teeth catching on one of the balls and tugging. 

It stung, Laurent’s teeth pressing together as he kept silent, a sensation of tingles sparking down his spine as Damen did it again

“That is not,” he said, “what you were going to do.”

“What was I going to do?” Damen asked, moving his face to Laurent’s hipbone and sucking down on it, holding Laurent’s eye. Before Laurent could speak, he grinned idly. “I thought you didn’t like my mouth.”

“You talk too much,” Laurent said. “Put it to better use.”

“How?” Damen bit down, licking the spot after.

Fervid with exasperation, Laurent brought his hands to the sides of his pants, pushing his thumbs in. Damen covered his hands with his own, large enough that it blocked Laurent’s from view as he put his own fingers in and pulled, tugging his pants down enough that they wouldn’t get in his way, leaving him exposed, already half hard.

Laurent looked away, feeling the way Damen’s fingers ghosted a touch along the length of him, his breath close enough that he could feel the minimal distance, not yet touching.

“Suck my cock,” Laurent said.

Damen made the same sound as earlier, hand curling around him loosely, and then he was lowering his head without further preamble. 

What little lift Laurent had to his head gave out, falling back onto the mattress helplessly as he felt the wet sensation closing around him, Damen’s lips spreading to accommodate his size. He had one hand gripped around the base, his other resting on the top of Laurent’s thigh so he felt every strain, every tremor and clench of muscle as Laurent kept his lips pressed together and tried to remember which way was up.

Damen bobbed his head effortlessly, furling his tongue around the head for a few seconds before he slid down again, taking him most of the way until he reached the point of barrier, even then hollowing out his cheeks so he could push further. He let out a short, choked sound from it, and even that had Laurent twisting the sheets in his hands from the indecent sound of it. The way he gripped him tightly, enthusiastically, like he was also enjoying it.

And he _was_ enjoying it, Laurent could tell. He could just make out the ruddy flush of his cheeks when he angled his head a certain way, the brazen moans he would let out every now and then like he was experiencing the pleasure himself. He’d never known anyone to be so uninhibited with their interest in sucking cock, and the sight of it made Laurent feel like he was being ripped at the seems. 

Damen pulled off then, a string of saliva hanging between the tip and his reddened lips, glistening. 

“Put your hand in my hair,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

Laurent felt his cock twitch, trying not to whimper at the loss of friction when he’d been so close. He closed his eyes, trying to soothe the ache in his thighs with deep breaths, but it wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Laurent,” Damen said, licking a stripe up the underside, backing away after that. Laurent felt crazed, seconds away from the edge.

Too abandoned to give it much thought, he lifted a tentative hand, placing it on his shoulder. That seemed to be enough to temporarily sate Damen because he lowered his eyes again, spreading his lips back around the tip.

Laurent heard himself sigh, his fingers sliding into thick hair so they rested at the back, his mouth falling open when Damen pushed his hips into the mattress, taking him even deeper. 

He wasn’t remotely emasculated in that position, the sight of him kneeling between Laurent’s legs with his face nearly buried in his thighs doing nothing to reduce him, the same power from everything else Damen did applying to how he sucked him. It was wildly irritating, the very concept of it causing Laurent to tug sharply at his hair, pleased satisfaction spiking through him when Damen grunted around him.

He lifted his eyes to Laurent’s, keeping them locked as he took him down one last time, hot and wet and tight. His palms moved down to grip him firmly from behind, and it was one more swirl of his tongue that had Laurent’s resolve crumbling, all defenses entirely giving way as his body shuddered in wracking waves, sweat prickling the back of his neck.

Laurent didn’t know when he had pushed himself up to watch, but his elbow had given out at the first jolt of release, flat and breathing hard as Damen raised himself above him, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he swallowed. He’d crawled on top of him, visibly hard through his pants, and Laurent didn’t think of anything else as he reached up to grip his neck in both hands, pulling Damen’s mouth against his so he could taste himself on his tongue, still panting between each kiss. 

He didn’t realize Damen had flipped them over until he was on top of him, Damen beneath him on his back and reaching up to kiss him, pushing into his hand where Laurent was cupping him. It was a clumsy, fumbled joint effort to get his pants open, the expression on Damen’s face unabashed as Laurent pushed his hand in, squeezing around him. 

Laurent’s breathes were still a little ragged from his own orgasm, his face flushed with the thought of how he’d felt inside Damen’s mouth. Damen’s hands were in his hair as he kissed up his neck, Laurent’s grip faltering a little at that.

“Are you sure you don’t like me,” Damen rasped with his mouth below his jaw. He was bucking into him with far more abandon that Laurent had, reacting to the touch of his hand as if he were actually inside him.

“Yes,” Laurent said, inches away from his lips as he thumbed at the slit, sliding his hand down with a twist of his wrist. “I hate you.”

“You too,” Damen replied, but the words came out a little muddled as he squeezed his eyes shut. He slid his hand up his side, under his shirt as his hips jerked.

“Laurent,” he breathed out, the end of his name trailing into a groan as he came in his fist.

Laurent moved off him as soon as he was spent, falling onto his back in a daze. He glanced at his hand, nose scrunching in distaste as he turned it over and wiped it off on Damen’s shirt.

Damen laughed, oddly, though there wasn’t much power behind it, his own arm fallen along his forehead. “Thanks,” he said.

“It was just a hand job,” Laurent replied, knowing what he had meant. He adjusted his own pants so he was properly dressed again but was otherwise unmoving, not entirely sure if he could just yet.

He heard as Damen shifted around, the fabric of the pillow bunching under his head as he rested his cheek down, looking at him. “Are you going to make another statement about this being the last time?”

Laurent groaned, far louder than Damen had managed to pull out of him. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I’ve lost all sense of judgment.”

Damen gave him a throaty laugh, face still turned towards him. “Are we waiting it out so we can go again?” 

“No,” Laurent said, rolling onto his back. “Get out of my house.”

Damen didn’t protest, pushing himself from the bed and onto the floor, straightening his back. Laurent could hear the sound of his belt buckle as he fixed his pants, and he decided not to remind him about the stain on his shirt that he might have wanted to cover up.

Damen walked over to the couch where all of his things had been left, collecting everything and putting it into a pile. “Are you going to Herode’s?” he asked.

“Obviously,” Laurent said.

Damen nodded, closing the flap on his bag and lifting it off the table. Laurent watched him with a bored expression, ready to shower and perhaps give himself another pep talk. He walked to the door with a hand in his pocket.

“Till next time, sweetheart,” he said, winking as he closed the door.

 

The warmer days of the season were officially over, the bright sun and green leaves that had clung to the trees falling away, now oranges and yellows and reds that streaked the streets the streets in colors of autumn crunching under their shoes and making it feel like the holidays were finally approaching.

Laurent had parted ways with his parents at the house, knowing they would take a town car and that Auguste would likely drive up with his friends, a group of alumni that usually attended these kind of events. It gave the administration something to boast to their friends about, inflating their pride and self worth as if the places their former students had gone in life had much to do with them and not their own abilities, or at the very least, their parents money.

Laurent was in the back of his limousine as they drove down Kesus Drive, Lazar and Orlant on either side of him. Jord was in the adjacent seat, Rochert across from him with Vannes and Talik on both of his sides, telling him some story that he was listening to with half of his attention, the other half dedicated to getting the bottle of champagne he was trying to get open. 

It was their second bottle, Orlant having popped one the second he’d gotten into the car. Everyone had a deep flute in their hand, the only reason he wasn’t pouring it down their throats being that Laurent had threatened to make him pay if he spilled anywhere.

There was valley waiting at the hotel when they eventually pulled up, though Laurent only notified his driver that he would let him know when he was needed again. They all pilled out one after the other, Vannes and Talik adjusting their skirts similarly to the men adjusting their jackets, running a hand through their hair.

It was a formal event, as most of these school run functions were, though truth be told it wasn’t such a step up from their regular uniforms, at least not for the men. Their suit jackets were of varying colors instead of the simple navy blue, and some were wearing bowties instead.

A group of adults were loitering outside together, walking the grounds and through the maze created in the hedges near the back. They all went inside together, heading straight for the ballroom that they’d been told to go to, some of them stopping on the way for coat check. 

It was a large, high ceilinged room, decked out in Artes coloring and banners. The room was spacious enough for most of the school to fit inside without being overcrowded, groups of people retiring on the balconies that wound out from the sliding doors at the sides. On one side of the room, a band playing music soft enough to be noticed without disturbing. On the other, a bar. 

Scattered around the room were circle tables covered in deep cloth and glistening china, each one only separated by a few feet, a distance that could be closed with the reach of a hand. Down the middle was the longest table, the tablecloth a different shade of blue to signify that it was set for the administration. 

The early dinner would come soon. Everything was a social event, and until then it was time to mingle. Laurent’s group had quickly found themselves at the side of the room by a tapestry of a bore mid hunt, Orlant and Rochert exchanging commentary about everyone in view.

“You know,” Orlant said, nodding his head to the redhead passing by them. “I heard someone saw him Berenger.”

“Ancel,” Vannes said, crossing her legs at her ankles. “Who would have guess that was plain old Berenger’s type.”

Rochert laughed, but Jord blanched when he saw their reaction, frowning at them. “The literature teacher?” 

“Look who’s talking,” Laurent said. “You’re the one fucking an underclassman.”

“I’m not-“ Jord’s expression twisted further. “Aimeric and I are just term partners.”

“Sure,” Rochert said with a nod. “Just like Lazar and Pallas.” 

Laurent turned to his direction. “Seriously?”

Lazar grinned, lifting his glass to his lips. “You’ve seen him,” he said, nudging his chin forward to the opposite end of the room. Laurent looked with his eyes, seeing a group of guys seated around a small table, drinks in each of their hands as well. Damen was amongst them, seated on the armrest so that he was level with the tall, dark haired girl that was speaking to them. 

The meal commenced shortly after that, Huet joining them at their table with Enguerran. He and Laurent hadn’t initially seen eye to eye, but the issue was since resolved and they got along just fine now, Laurent accepting the platter of stuffed shells from him.

Waiters walked around with trays of appetizers and wine bottles, taking everyone’s personal orders for the main course in hushed tones so as not to disturb whoever it was that was speaking. A few of the teachers gave personalized speeches, acquaintances of Herode who had known him since they were younger, before they had begun working with him. Halvik went up next, the vice principal speaking about the academy and its achievements, and how much Herode added in shaping the lives of the students and all those otherwise involved. There was a polite break of applause, and then the main course was brought out.

Someone at the table asked Guymar about their upcoming game against Patras Academy, him being the only one seated there that was on the football team. Sports weren’t typically what drew on Laurent’s attention, and he allowed his gaze to wander as his mind drifted away, scanning the tables aimlessly.

He caught Auguste’s eye without meaning to, Auguste looking at him questioningly as if waiting for Laurent to mouth something secretive. He waved the look away, pushing back from the table and excusing himself from the few people who glanced up at the sound.

Laurent made for the bar on the left side of the room, leaning his forearms on the smooth wood as he signaled to the bartender for a martini. He wasn’t technically of age yet – most of the people in the room weren’t – though things like that stopped being a problem once they had become sophomores, so long as they were subtle about it. His gaze swept along the glass shelves of ice buckets and bottles, just as he felt another body fit next to his.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Nikandros, one of the guys he typically saw with Damen. They’d never had a conversation, but he knew they had statistics together. 

“Laurent,” he said in greeting, tilting his empty glass towards a second bartender that had just joined them.

“Hi,” Laurent said, accepting the drink that was slid towards him. “Do I know you?”

Nikandros looked back at him, blinking twice. “We have stat together.”

When Laurent tilted his head, he waved both hands around. “Fifth period? I sit in front of you.”

Laurent shrugged, slipping the olive off the toothpick with his lips. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Nikandros muttered, leaning forward on his elbows as he sipped from his newly filled cognac. 

They drank in silence, and it was two more glances before Laurent set his drink down. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. He was still looking at him pointedly, and not in the way that people tended to look at Laurent. He drummed his fingers on the bar. Laurent didn’t know if he was socially inept, or just generally dull. Either way, it made sense that the two of them were friends. 

He left with that, only for Laurent to shortly be joined by another person. He sighed into his sip, but when he turned his head he was relieved to find that it was Auguste. 

“Scotch,” Auguste said before he turned on his side, leaning an elbow down and looking at Laurent. “So?”

“So, what,” Laurent said.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty bland, thus far,” Laurent said. “But I have high hopes for the next course.”

Auguste smiled, accepting his glass and napkin with a nod. “Dad’s been looking over the surveillance footage in the house,” he said, lifting himself onto a barstool. “He asked about him.”

“I’m not following,” Laurent said.

He smiled wider. Auguste was one of the few people, if not the only one that Laurent knew who could smile so often without it seeming insincere. “He’s been over a few times.”

“Oddly,” Laurent said, finishing off his gin. “Projects don’t do themselves.” 

“We pulled up next to each other,” Auguste said, swirling the ice around in his glass, rubbing his thumb along the condensation on the side. “We spoke a little. He’s a cool guy.”

“Then hang out with him yourself,” Laurent said, not understanding what this conversation was. He didn’t want to talk about Damen, he was dealing with enough of him as it was. This was his time off. “He likes blondes, he’ll love you.”

Auguste paused, eyeing him over the rim of the cup “Does he?”

Laurent felt his features flatten, sliding his glass away without looking. Auguste tried to nudge his cheek, but Laurent swatted his hand away. “Go back to your friends,” he said, leaving Auguste alone with the bartenders as he walked back to this table. 

Late afternoon turned to early evening, the plates cleared away so that everyone could rise and walk around, desert being served on rotating platters by caterers, rather in the same sit down fashion as the main meal. Laurent ended up on the balcony with a few different people, letting the cool air soothe him as they discussed their holiday plans. At some point during the weighing of Ver-Tan and Dice, Laurent felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. When he checked his phone he saw that he didn’t even recognize the number, sliding it back in with disinterest. 

“Do you have a lighter?” Orlant asked Enguerran, looking around the rest of the group when he should his head.

“In my coat,” Lazar supplied, not looking in any rush to get up from his spot.

“I’ll get it,” Laurent said as he pushed away from the ledge, not minding the idea of getting away from the cluster for a little bit. He held is hand out for Lazar’s ticket stub with the coat number on it, shoving it into his own pocket as he turned for the exit.

The walk out the ballroom and into one of the hallways was quiet, only a few people hanging around the benches and alcoves that he passed on his way. He turned a corner to enter a new way, only making it a few steps before realizing he was in the wrong wing of the hotel, this one leading to the back exit of the pool.

He paused, glancing around towards all the similar looking patterns as he stepped back, retracing his steps so he could go back to his starting point and make the left instead.

Laurent barely made it down the hall when he felt something touch his hand, the almost unsure graze of fingers turning into a grip on his wrist that yanked him tightly, a door slamming shut behind him sounding loudly in Laurent’s ears. 

Not being one to scream, Laurent consciously tampered down his reactions as he smoothed his features, suspending any panic as he turned.

When he saw Damen standing in front of him, he briefly reconsidered the notion of screaming, the smile on his face only adding to the appeal.

“What the fuck?” Laurent said, straightening his jacket.

Damen blinked, the look on his face stilling. “What?”

“Why would you just-“ he pointed to the door.

It only seemed to confuse Damen further, looking at Laurent as if _he_ had been the one to practically drag him into some random room with no explanation. 

“What are you-“ Damen motioned between them, then to Laurent alone. “You came.”

He could be on the balcony. He could be in open air with eloquent people, and instead he was dealing with this. “I don’t even know where we are, and it’s not like I knew you were here.”

Damen squinted, pointing to Laurent again. “I texted you to come to Gala C, and you’re here.”

“What?” Laurent said, pulling his phone out. He swiped in and clicked on his messages, seeing a text that was marked unopened. It said, plainly, _Come to Gala C._

“Oh,” Laurent said, looking up. “Okay.”

“What?” Damen said. And then he grabbed Laurent’s phone out of his hands, which really was just rude. He looked down at the screen, his mouth twisting petulantly as he shoved it back at Laurent’s chest. “You don’t have my number in your contacts?”

It felt like a weird questions. “Why would I?”

Damen stared at him blankly, saying nothing to that for a few seconds before he laughed, running a hand through his hair. He had jelled some of it back, and the push of his fingers disturbed the arrangement so that one curl fell down his forehead. “You’re something else.”

Laurent looked around again, a little less frazzled than before. He wasn’t sure what the room was, nothing but a table with a white cloth on it and an old chair, a few boxes piled on top. “Why are we here?”

“To discuss the political history between Vere and Akielos,” Damen said.

Laurent looked at him flatly. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“And you’re not as aloof as you think _you_ are,” Damen replied.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Laurent,” Damen said, taking a step forward. Stepping back would place Laurent at a wall, so he stood there, unmoving. “You love to point out how smart you are. You know exactly why we’re here.”

He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, something Laurent had only just noticed. The sleeves of his black button down were haphazardly pushed up, the way his school shirt always was. “I know why _you’re_ here.”

It seemed to amuse Damen. The curve of his lips said as much. “And yet, you’re still here.”

It grew silent. Laurent pursed his lips, glaring at him. Damen looked back, undisturbed. He raised a brow.

“Lazar is waiting for his lighter,” Laurent said.

“Don’t worry,” Damen said, stepping into his space with a hand on the wall, the second one closing him in. “We’ll try and be quick.”

“Oh, I was just giving you context,” Laurent said, tilting his head to the side as Damen pressed his face into the side of his neck. “I know you’ll be quick.”

That turned the touch of open lips into teeth, his own fingers going into Damen’s belt loops to tug him closer, reveling in the slide of thigh against thigh. Damen raised his head to hold his eye as he did it again, and it was inevitably Laurent who broke the standstill by curling a hand around his neck, pulling his mouth down.

Damen kept his hands on either side of Laurent as they kissed, the push and pull of their lips their only point of contact. Laurent wanted more, he wanted to feel his hands move along his body and touch him how he wanted, to press him into the wall with insistence. He brought one hand between Damen’s legs, frustration bubbling when Damen grabbed his hand and pressed it on the wall by his hip. Damen pulled his mouth back, stepping in a little closer so their noses almost touched. “Don’t be impatient.”

He released Laurent’s wrist, letting it fall to his side uselessly so he could lift a hand to Laurent’s face, using his thumb to trace his lower lip. It was a slow, gentle sweep, and Laurent ignored the way it made something in his chest turn as he pushed his hand away. “I’m not a porcelain doll.”

“Trust me,” Damen said, pulling Laurent’s zipper down. “I know.”

He kissed him long and deep, stroking Laurent to full hardness as he ignored his own obvious arousal, putting the same enthusiasm into the press of his mouth as he would with the rest of his body, something Laurent vividly remembered with a hot curl in his stomach. Laurent’s own hands were moving up Damen’s back, slightly resenting himself with how he was already thinking about the next time he could feel him press Laurent into the mattress, holding him down with his stronger bulk.

“Did you get me in here just to blow me again?” Laurent asked, only half taunting. His begrudging wants aside, realism was something that couldn’t quite be neglected.

But Damen only grinned, pulling his hand away so he could reach into his own pocket, sliding out a condom and small tube. He spun it around between two fingers, expression smug. 

“Pathetic,” Laurent said.

“Pragmatic,” Damen replied, beginning to push Laurent’s pants down his thighs. He heard his belt buckle chime with it, the distant sound of music a vague thrumming that he could feel rush through him as Damen twisted the cap off with his thumb, using the same knuckle to tilt his chin up for a kiss.

“You walk around with bottles of lube,” Laurent said, trying not to squirm as Damen’s fingers traced the inner curve of his thigh. “That’s not something impressive.”

“Stop talking,” Damen said, kissing him one more time before bringing a hand to his side and turning him rapidly, front against the wall.

Laurent barely stopped himself from reacting as he felt Damen’s body press up against his, his broad chest fitting against each curve of his back as his hands went up instinctively, palms flat. He felt Damen’s face nuzzle into his nape, his large hands moving down his sides until they were resting on his bare waist, fingers curving in so he could pull Laurent’s hips back and into his. Laurent felt Damen’s mouth fall open against him, the length of his moan against his skin like the vibration of a guitar string being strummed inside him as he ground his hips forward.

Damen’s hands began to roam, touching every part of Laurent like it was something he had been thinking about for weeks and was only now being sated, a pitcher of water placed in front of a parched man. His palms glided up his stomach, around his hips, resting on the curves of his backside so he felt the toned muscles, flexing his fingers minutely so he was pulling his cheeks apart.

Laurent’s head hit the wall, his forehead making a dull _thud_ , his tongue tightly held between his teeth as he felt a finger brush against him. “Do it,” he said, his breath puffing off the wall and back against his face like warmth.

There was a slight pause of emptiness, nothing but Laurent’s thoughts and the party a few halls away, everyone in attendance carrying on in polite conversation and interaction as Laurent swallowed once, waiting in bated breath to be fucked against the wall of an old, abandoned hotel room.

Damen’s hands returned to him, lube slicked fingers once again palming the flesh of his ass as he rubbed around him slowly, his tongue tracing the exposed line of his neck. Laurent opened his mouth to direct him again, but he managed nothing more that a harsh breath of air when Damen pushed the first finger in.

Damen held him in place with one hand as he opened him gradually, each shift and press of Laurent’s hips only causing him to go faster, one finger quickly turning to a second, and eventually a third. 

Laurent wasn’t sure how long he spent stretching him open, his other hand stroking his cock loosely like it was nothing more than an afterthought. By the time he pulled out and away, Laurent’s entire body felt strained and pulled too tight, an aching quiver that begged to be undone.

But then Damen was back against him, and the firm pressure of his chest against Laurent’s back was like a steady reassurance that Laurent couldn’t understand but knew that he desperately needed. He felt the tip of Damen’s cock nudge against him, and the first blunt, hard push of him inside had Laurent’s lips parting, hands grappling against the wall like angling for an anchor. 

They’d only fucked once before, something that he couldn’t believe had only happened two days ago. That had been new, impulsive, measured in that way that it could be when you were in a bed, no urgency behind the act. Damen had waited at first, pausing after the first push inside so that Laurent could acclimate to his size, staying still until Laurent spoke, showing that he was ready. 

That was then. Laurent didn’t know if he’d expected the same treatment now, but any possible thoughts quickly evaporated the second he felt Damen’s hips pull back the instant he was all the way inside, not hesitating for a second before pushing back in with enough force to press them both into the wall.

Laurent’s lips were pressed together, feeling like all the blood in his body rushed up his neck and to his face as Damen began to move inside him, the thick mass of his body causing Laurent’s shoulders to dig into the wall, his chest squeezed tightly so that his face was turned sharply, Damen’s face resting inches away from his own.

Damen’s hands started out as his sides, holding him in a grip that was sure to leave marks of fingers spanned wide, ten individual points where Laurent would later touch and be unable to deny that this was happening, that he was letting his head rest against the wall in helpless, thoughtless bliss while Damen held him tighter, fucked him harder.

He felt his hands slide, sliding across his stomach as his arms wound around him, curving Laurent’s body into his in a way that had Laurent just slightly lifted onto his toes, nothing but the pressure and strain of Damen’s muscles holding him up at a higher angle. He was practically hugging Laurent against him as he thrust his cock into the tightness of his body, muttering incoherencies into Laurent’s ear that only grew with each drag and clench of Laurent’s body around him.

Laurent could hear Damen’s pants sliding down his thighs with each pump of his hips, his own pants long fallen at his ankles so that they pooled at their feet. Laurent felt shattered by it all, electricity pounding through him in a way that reformed sensation, each collision of their bodies robbing him of his breath so that he could do nothing more than close his eyes and feel every impact of hips like it was the first.

Damen’s face was pressed deep into his neck, his arms a vise grip that Laurent knew could release at any moment, opting instead to flip him around and pick him up effortlessly. To hold Laurent in place and fuck up and into him if that was what Damen wanted, to leave Laurent with no option but to let his legs hang loosely around his waist as he took him like that, unrestrained. 

He didn’t do that. Damen kept him just as he was, his lips parted so that he could groan into Laurent’s skin, each thrust causing his chest to scrape against the wall. Each push of his hips drove him closer to a release that Laurent wanted, up against the wall of a lavish hotel with everyone waiting on him. He had a hand wound behind him, unsure what exactly it was that he was looking for until his fingers found Damen’s hair, pushing into curls that felt like tangled silk.

Damen came like that, his body jerking against him with Laurent’s holding his face against him, arms tightening around him further as he rode it out with a few more long, deep thrusts. 

Everything after that was a blur of different actions, muddling together in Laurent’s perception so that they didn’t fully occur to him until it was over. Damen pulling out with a hand at his side, turning Laurent over so he was once again with his back to the wall. Falling to his knees in front of him, Laurent feeling far too wrung out to care about appearances when his head fell back, nothing else mattering but the feel of Damen’s lips around him, the muffled sounds he made as he rubbed the side of Laurent’s thigh, swallowing his own release.

After, Laurent didn’t think much as he leaned his arms back and slid to the ground, too boneless and unsteady to do much else. Damen didn’t comment, only an inch or so away from him in a similar recline, one of his knees pulled half up. They were both breathing deeply, looking up at the ceiling. 

“So.” Damen lolled his head to the side, his voice still holding a rougher undertone. “Are you enjoying the festivities?” 

Laurent swung his eyes to him, still trying to regain his breath. He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. “We’re not here to chat.”

“Of course not,” Damen replied, nudging an elbow against Laurent’s in a way that was a bit too comfortable for his liking. 

The thought was a bit ridiculous, that much he could admit. He’d just let Damen fuck him with his pants around his ankles, yet he was more put off by a friendly gesture. 

“We have to meet tomorrow,” Laurent said, needing to get things back on track. “To work.”

“Fine,” Damen said, stretching his hands out in front of him before turning to Laurent. “And add my number.”

Laurent still didn’t see why he needed it, but he didn’t care enough to argue. He took his phone out, still feeling a bit sluggish as he typed the four-digit code in and handed it to Damen. “Go ahead.” 

Damen took it from him, and Laurent set to lifting himself off the floor enough to pull his pants back up, adjusting himself properly before tucking his shirt back under the waistband. When he finished doing up the button he held his hand out, Damen placing it back in his palm.

Laurent looked down at his screen, staring blankly at the new contact that had been added to the list. There was a ten-digit number and an email address, right below a singular purple eggplant emoji.

He glanced up at Damen, trying to understand how he was actually allowing himself to be in this situation. “Are you serious.”

Damen held his phone out, the screen already presented for Laurent. “Now we match.”

Laurent saw his own number in front of him, and was somehow unsurprised to see the peach emoji that it was accompanied by, nothing else beside it. He shook his head minutely with a barely repressed roll of his eyes, though it apparently wasn’t all when Damen said, “Oh look, he smiles.”

‘I’m smiling because of your maturity level,” Laurent said, handing him back his phone. “You’re an oversized child.”

That made Damen smile as well, for reasons entirely unbeknownst to him. Damen pushed up from his spot and began to adjust his own clothing, eyes on Laurent as he did.

“My friend Nikandros doesn’t like you,” he said, lacking any of the hesitancies that someone might use when telling you something like that, which was fair. It wasn’t nearly the worst thing one of them had said to the other.

Laurent couldn’t help but laugh. “I had literally one conversation with him.” 

“Nik is quick to make judgments,’ Damen said, smoothing his shirt down. “And he has a history of not being a big fan of my choices.”

“Well, do you make bad choices?” Laurent asked.

“I have.”

“Then you only have yourself to blame now.”

Damen was silent as he finished straightening his tie, watching the way Laurent watched him. He looked down at his clothes one last time as if inspecting for a wrinkle, only then looking back at him. “No one said this was a bad choice.”

Laurent didn’t say anything, trying to understand what that was supposed to mean. This was clearly a bad choice; it was just a mutually beneficial one. He opened his mouth to say as such, but Damen just walked to the door with Laurent still slumped on the ground, speaking over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

 

They’d agreed to meet at the library the next day, texting first thing in the morning to decide on when and where. Living closer to the building, Laurent had told Damen to text him when he was on his way so that he could leave too, that way showing up around the same time. 

Laurent was in his kitchen, chewing on a green apple and flipping through a magazine that had been left out when his mom walked in, the sound of her heels announcing her presence long before she appeared. He was waiting for his phone to go off, not bothering to glance up from his page. “Hi, mom.”

“Good morning, honey,” she said, kissing him on the head before walking to the fridge. “Sleep well?”

“Fine.” He shut the magazine, looing up. She had pulled a water bottle out of the fridge and was looking at him as she sipped. 

“I’m going to the club,” she said, setting it aside. “Your brother is there. Are you joining us for lunch?”

“I can’t,” Laurent said, his phone vibrating as he spoke. He checked the screen and saw Damen’s message – he had yet to change that ridiculous contact name – and slipped his phone in his back pocket. “I have to meet my partner for a project.”

Hennike had been pulling a compact mirror out of her purse when he’d checked his text, a tube of red lipstick in her hand. She eyed him with the sly curve of lips that he had learned specifically from her, uncapping the tube. “Auguste told me,” she said, as if that meant anything at all. “I didn’t know you were working with Egeria’s son.”

Laurent frowned. “Are you friends?”

“Friendly,” she said, somehow managing to speak while smearing on lipstick. “Aleron golfs with her husband. I’ve seen her at the bar.”

When Laurent nodded, she glanced at him over the mirror. “You should bring him over for dinner.”

Laurent thought he might have misheard, but his mom was looking at him expectantly like she was waiting for a response. Laurent’s frown deepened, unsure why anyone would want to invite Damen anywhere, let alone dinner. “Absolutely not.”

She dropped her lipstick back into her bag, rubbing her lips together before she placed her chin on her palm. “He’s very handsome.” 

“I’m leaving,” Laurent said, walking over to the panel on the wall and hitting the button that would notify Hector to bring the car around. He’d stretched the conversation long enough; hopefully Damen would be waiting on him. “See you at dinner.”

“Have fun,” she said, with a lilt to a voice that Laurent didn’t feel any desire to try and place. She squeezed his cheek between her fingers like he was a child and smiled, and Laurent couldn’t help but smile back before he left.

When Laurent approached the path leading up to the library, Damen was leaning on his car side with an elbow on the hood, tapping the end of his phone against his thigh. When Laurent was a few feet away he pushed off the door, watching his driver pull away. “Is there any particular reason you can’t drive?”

“I _can_ drive,” Laurent said, taking the steps up with Damen walking behind him. 

“So you just take a limo around because you want attention?”

“I don’t need to try and garter attention,” Laurent replied dryly, pushing the doors open. He was immediately hit with the familiar silence and the colorful rows of books upon books, aware of how out of place it felt to be there with Damen. Or anyone, really.

“Hi Laurent,” one of the woman working the entrance smiled at him, lifting a few fingers. Laurent lifted a hand in response as he walked around her desk, making for one of the tables near the back.

“You’ve smiled for the second time without malice,” Damen said, dropping his bag into a chair and sitting on the one beside Laurent. “I’ve gone into shock.”

“You know,” Laurent said, pulling out his notebooks and folders. “Jokes tend to lose their luster when you repeat them.”

“Who’s joking?” Damen asked.

Laurent opened to one of the pages he’d filled out the previous night, looking up at Damen warily. “Is there any chance you’ve done anything since our last session?”

Damen’s lips twisted together as his brows made a straight line, rifling through a folder of his own. He licked the pad of his finger and flicked though a few pages, causing Laurent to fix his gaze on a passing mother and daughter as he waited.

Damen dropped two pages down in front of him, black cursive ink that scrawled down every single line, filling the page with only a single space between paragraphs. When Laurent lifted the paper, he saw that one was double sided. 

“I can write,” Damen said, leaning back in his chair. “Who knew.”

Laurent was already reading, ignoring whatever catty comment Damen was about to make. His fingers were bent in front of his lips, his foot stretched out under the table as it tapped the carpet, his eyes scanning rapidly. He saw, not for the first time, that Damen had managed to align two central concepts in a way that he hadn’t yet managed. 

He looked at the bottom of the page where Damen had re written the key terms _analytical, informational, argumentative, reflective, expressive._ , and up at him. His arms were loosely crossed, his usually expressive face flat.

Laurent cleared his throat, tapping the word _reflective._ “How do you think we can conjunct the central setting with the author’s childhood home life?” 

Damen’s eyebrows pulled in, silent like he was waiting for a punchline. When Laurent offered none he cleared his own throat, leaning forward on his forearms. He took a pen, flipping to a new page so that he could begin to jot a few things down, Laurent glancing over his constantly moving wrist.

Laurent didn’t know what word to use to describe the entire ordeal, unsure if anything would properly suffice. Then, in silent moments like those where they were two students working together on a project they’d been forcibly paired on, it was impossible to reconcile everything going on. 

He remembered the way Damen would make him feel over the years, the needling comments and looks that prickled under his skin, and the way all of that had surfaced when it was Damen’s name that had been called after his the previous week in class. He remembered being hit with the realization that he would have to do all of the work and piggyback them through the term, in addition to having to suffer more of his company every week.

Laurent sat there, the both of them making lists and occasionally changing notebooks to stay in the same mindset, remorsefully aware of how much he hadn’t been suffering his company the day before. Or the one before that.

Or the one before that.

“What?” Damen said.

Laurent lifted his head at the sound of his voice, Damen watching him. “What?”

Damen pointed forward with his pen. “You’re gripping the table pretty hard.”

Laurent released the edge. “And?”

Damen rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Shit, sorry.”

Laurent dropped his pen, hearing it roll across the table. He could act so utterly calm, so blissfully unbothered by the entire situation, and it was fucking infuriating. Damen didn’t like Laurent either. He knew this, as confident as he was about many other things. He was aware that it was nothing more than sex, but Damen carried himself at such ease around him, regardless of whatever it was they were doing, like he wasn’t also experiencing something akin to a quarter life crisis every time they walked away from each other.

Damen glanced up again, his eyes double taking when he saw that Laurent was in fact staring at him. “Seriously, what?”

Laurent took his pen back up. “Nothing.”

He was pretending, just like Laurent was. He was separating the two different modes in his mind, compartmentalizing his feelings. He had to be. There was no other way he was actually enjoying their depraved, regretfully satisfying fucks. 

For Laurent to associate the person that somehow knew exactly how to touch him with the person that he was forced to interact with every day was unthinkable, and undesirable at best. He may have actually been astoundingly in tune with their teacher’s wants and how best to tie the looser threads that they had created together, but that hardly mattered in the grander scheme of things. When it came down to it, not much did.

They continued to work, and it was some time later that Laurent heard his name, considerably more high pitched than Damen’s much deeper voice. He glanced up, leaning back from his papers wen he saw who it was.

“Nicaise,” Laurent said.

Nicaise had pulled one of the seats out, but he only leaned his weight forward on the back, not bothering to actually sit with them. He was in an oversized hooded sweatshirt, his fisted hands pushed in the front pocket so that it stretched out the picture of the band printed on the front.

“I have a problem,” Nicaise said. “We started functions in math.”

Nicaise went to the middle school linked to Artes; he would be enrolling a bit after Laurent graduated. “All right,” Laurent said.

Nicaise tugged at one of the strings hanging down the front of his hoodie. “I fucking hate math.”

“I know,” Laurent said.

“Hi,” Damen said, bending forward slightly. “I’m Damen.”

Nicaise scrunched his nose up. “I don’t care.”

Damen stared at him for a prolonged moment, leaning back in his seat after. “Well, you’re unpleasant.”

Nicaise turned to Laurent. “Why are you friend with him?”

Laurent made a face, just as Damen said, “we’re not friends.”

“Then why are you here with him?” Nicaise asked. “You never hang out with people you don’t like.”

“That’s right,” Laurent nodded. “I’m not hanging out with him.”

“Laurent likes me just fine,” Damen said. “When it suits him.”

Nicaise flicked his blue glare over to him, tugging on a string again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop speaking,” Laurent said to him, kicking at Damen’s shin under the table when he saw Damen’s mouth twitch. He looked at Nicaise. “Just text me when you need my help.”

“I don’t _need_ help,” Nicaise said, which Laurent knew to take as _okay._

Laurent shifted in his seat after Nicaise was out of earshot, knocking the pen out of Damen’s hand and kicking him again. “Are you crazy? He’s a child.”

“Oh come on, I wasn’t going to actually say anything,” Damen said, leaving his pen where it had fallen. “But since you mention it, why are you friends with a fourteen year old?”

Laurent returned his eyes to his notes. “Thirteen.”

“I’ve seen your crowd at school,” Damen continued. “I don’t see how Nicaise fits in your social circle.”

“I don’t see how that statement even makes sense.”

“Are you avoiding the question?” Damen asked.

Laurent blew out a breath. “I don’t know what you’re expecting,” he said. “I just tutor him sometimes.”

“Why?” Damen asked. “You don’t need money.”

Laurent looked at him. “You think I would take money from a kid?”

Damen shrugged, but his eyes didn’t give much away, which Laurent would count as a first.

Laurent looked back at his notebook again, checking off two things he wanted to search when he was home. “He just needs someone to help him,” he said. “Doesn’t matter much who it is.”

Damen didn’t say anything, and Laurent glanced out of the corner of his eye to see him looking down at his own paper, his pen still not picked back up.

Laurent felt as the moment began to shift into something uncomfortable, a subtle twitch like an itch out of reach. He pushed his own notebook forward, eyeing the clock on the wall before reaching for Damen’s pen. “Let’s finish.”

 

Monday afternoon, Laurent walked down the hall with Lazar at his side, listening as he spoke about the bar he had went to the previous night. They turned the corner and crossed paths with a group of girls that they both shared first hour with, the one on the left looking at Lazar in a way that was so far from subtle that Laurent wasn’t even sure it was meant to be.

They made it to Laurent’s locker at the end of the hall, and Laurent found that he wasn’t too surprised to see Damen already there, waiting for him in a comfortable recline. He felt a wave of skepticism as they approached him, anything else nothing more than a strange flicker. 

“Hey, man,” Lazar said, stopping with Laurent a few feet away. Damen pushed himself straight at their approach, locking his phone that he’d been scrolling through.

“Hey,” he said, putting his phone away. “Pallas is looking for you by the gate.”

“Yeah?” Lazar grinned, knocking elbows with Laurent. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned the same way they had come, his hands in his pockets as he walked in what could nearly be considered a jog. Laurent moved to face his own locker, Damen leaning back in the same spot as he worked his combination. “What does Pallas want?”

“Nothing,” Damen said, his head touching the wooden surface of the locker doors. “I haven’t seen him since lunch.”

Laurent’s hand stilled on his Health textbook. “And therefore…”

Damen lifted a shoulder, tugging one of Laurent’s notebooks out enough that he could read the cover. “He left, didn’t he?”

Laurent watched him check the back before sliding it amongst the rest of the books, as nonchalant about sifting through his things as he was with anything else. He tried to articulate a response, but only managed to close his mouth and blink. 

“So,” Damen said, when Laurent took the same book he had been looking at and slipped it in his bag. “Whose place tonight?”

“Mine,” Laurent said, pulling the zipper. “Seven.”

He looked at Damen, turning just in time to see his eyes move back up. 

Laurent slammed the door shut. “To work.”

Damen’s smile was slow. “Okay.”

 

It didn’t end up being just work, of course. 

That was apparent as soon as Damen had entered his room, which was a problem. Or rather, the problem was that Laurent was at a point where he felt he should have expected it, which in retrospect was just as bad.

They _had_ worked, technically. They had managed to knock a few things off their list, and they’d only argued about minute details once or twice. The thing was, Laurent was coming to learn that they might even work well together, if they actually wanted to. The issues mainly came through when one of them was feeling particularly indignant or stubborn, which wasn’t always a rarity. By the time Laurent was stacking a few papers into a pile that he’d deemed completed, he could feel Damen’s eyes on him in a way that indicated that work was over, as far as he was concerned.

Laurent stood up from the couch with his papers, not quite stifling a grin when Damen followed his lead. “Going somewhere?”

Damen gave a pointed look to his bed, and the flush on Laurent’s cheeks wasn’t yet gone when he turned back to him.

Laurent walked over to his desk, setting everything down and placing a binder on top so they wouldn’t get swept away from the wind. He turned around and leaned his palms back on the edge, giving Damen a similar look.

Damen didn’t seem bothered by the attention, not shifting in his spot or glancing around uncomfortably. It seemed to pique his interest more than anything.

“Don’t tell me you’re still pretending to consider this,” he said. 

“Did I say anything?”

“Your look says it all,” Damen said. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you kissed me first.”

“You wouldn’t stop talking,” Laurent replied. “I needed to shut you up somehow.”

“If you ask me, that sounds like a cliché excuse.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Laurent said. “Get on the bed.”

Laurent saw as Damen’s response visibly caught, closing his mouth before speaking again. “What?”

“Get on the bed,” Laurent repeated.

Damen didn’t argue further, walking over to Laurent’s bed and sitting on the edge, hands at his sides. Laurent stayed where he was for a moment so he could just look, feeling each definitive second slip by like the pages of a book flipping slowly. 

He pushed off the desk, not entertaining any other thought as he walked up to Damen and stopped in front of his knees, looking down. He was aware of the way his mind seemed to zero in on his decision like the book was slamming shut, and he didn’t care.

Neither of them spoke, the pull between their eyes all that was needed to have Damen wrapping his arms around his middle, Laurent’s thighs clutching around him with ease.

Damen’s hands moved up his shoulders as Laurent kissed him, a shift and arch causing his blazer to fall off his arms, crumbling on the floor behind him. Laurent’s own fingers went to work at the knot of Damen’s tie, loosening it enough so that it pulled apart in his hands and slipped out from beneath his collar, falling onto the mattress. He tugged at his jacket, breaking apart enough that Damen could reach behind him and yank it off and to the side.

“Move back,” Laurent said against his mouth, his heart skipping once when Damen tightened his hold on his waist and moved them back together, Laurent sliding forward a little more with the movement. Laurent clutched at his upper arms, feelings them flex with the way he held both up them up for a moment, Damen’s grip going to the sides of his neck once they were settled in the middle.

Damen kissed him with an odd blend of dominance and submission, a contradiction that Laurent couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around. His fingers tensed around him firmly, nearly forceful, the vigor of each press of his lips strong in a way that already threated to numb Laurent’s mouth.

And yet, there was an undertone of delicacy to it, a hint of acquiescence that came through with each angling of Laurent’s head, each shift in the way they moved, as if he would comply heartily with anything Laurent wanted. 

It was with Damen’s hands at his collar, undoing the front of his shirt that Laurent brought a hand to his chest, pressing forward. Damen’s lips slid out from Laurent’s as he was pushed away and down on his back, face tilted up towards the ceiling as Laurent pulled his hand away. 

Damen lifted his head as Laurent took a hold of his own tie, shaking his head with the slightest tilt when Damen tried to lift a hand, waiting for him to flatten himself back down. He traced his thumb along the edge of the knot, Damen’s darker lashes lowering as he followed the movement of Laurent’s fingers, cloth looping out of itself as it came undone in one pull, falling to the side. His shirt came next, meeting his blazer on the ground.

“Unbutton your shirt,” Laurent said.

It was wholly unexpected, the quickness in which Damen complied to what he said. Laurent always knew him to be difficult, challenging, the two of them constantly looking for ways to negate each other, but Damen was taking it in stride as if he wanted it just as much, and Laurent didn’t know what to do with how that made him feel. Or perhaps, how _much_ that made him feel.

He heard Damen press his feet into the bed and push his shoes off, dropping down onto the carpeted floor as Laurent ran his hands up his chest, feeling the way it contracted with a sharper inhale. He lifted his hips up to give room, motioning down with his chin. “Pants.”

He didn’t know why Damen was listening. He didn’t know why he was responding to Laurent’s directive as if it was turning him on as well. He didn’t care why.

Still being half dressed himself, Damen’s nakedness under him seemed even more pronounced, something about him being the only one making this feel like more of an experimentation than what it really was, like they were trying something new where they found different ways to experience pleasure.

Damen’s hands moved up Laurent’s thighs, stopping at the waistband of his pants where material met skin, though he made no move further than that. 

“Do you want something?” Laurent asked.

Damen’s lips pressed together, the bottom sliding between his teeth as he nodded.

“What?” Laurent asked, unzipping his pants. “Don’t pretend like you’re suddenly shy.”

“Ride me,” Damen said.

Laurent flushed, hard. He felt it start at the apples of his cheeks and spread down his neck, his entire body feeling warm with it, a spotlight to his thoughts.

The thought of it was unimaginable, unbelievable that he would ever put himself in that kind of an exposing position, with this person. To willingly put himself on such display, to imagine allowing himself to be so abandoned with Damen of all people was simply not something he could think about.

Except, he _was_ thinking about it. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

Laurent had divested of the rest of his own clothing during his brief interlude of internal dissonance, Damen’s hands back at his sides. They were so large, they nearly wrapped entirely around him. Laurent thought of how easily he could lift him up, how easy it could be to move Laurent’s body how he wanted.

“Well?” Damen said.

Laurent was sitting just above his hips, his backside just brushing against Damen’s cock. He felt Damen’s awareness of it, the fact of their positions made clear in his eyes as Laurent moved to hover over him, one hand on either side of Damen’s head.

“Well?” he replied. 

It was Damen who pushed up rather the other way around, lifting his weight on an elbow enough to lift his head towards Laurent, his face tilted up. Laurent stayed just the way he was as Damen reached for him, kissing Laurent with the same power that holding his face would give, despite the way his palms weren’t straying from their place around his waist, smoothing down his back. Laurent remembered Damen holding his hands above his head as he’d kissed him against his bedpost, the way it had felt to be at his mercy in that way.

“Do you have-“ Damen said, the words cutting off in a breath when Laurent ground his hips back.

Laurent pushed himself out of his grip, moving up Damen’s body so that he could lean over towards the drawer that was within arms reach from where they had fallen. His chest was above Damen’s face as he pulled open the handle, and he felt the way his entire body locked up like a rubber band stretched wide at the first brush of Damen’s lips against his skin.

Laurent’s fingers curled around the metal rod, his breaths faltering for a moment. 

“What are you-“ he said, another breath rushing out of him when Damen tilted his head to the side and laved his tongue around him.

Laurent’s head hung down, his arm moving out to brace himself against the bed. He needed to reign whatever it was he was feeling in, to snap back the control that seemed to have slipped right out of his hands, but that concept seemed utterly impossible with Damen feathering kisses against his nipples, coarse stubble scraping against sensitive skin.

Gathering whatever minimal amount of strength he could muster, Laurent pulled out everything they needed and moved back over Damen, dripping then down on his chest. Damen seemed a little distracted, not paying much attention to the lube Laurent has just retrieved in favor of trying to kiss up his chest more.

“Just-“ Laurent said. His head felt light. The last thing he needed was for Damen to kiss him like anything short of a whisper would blow him away. “Prepare me.”

Laurent kept his knees braced on either side of his hips as Damen opened him, each push of his slicked fingers causing Laurent’s own fingers to coil deeper into the sheets, his other hand in a possessive grip around Damen’s bicep. It was uncomfortably quiet in the room, so much so that Laurent could hear every slow inhale he made, Damen’s dark eyes only on his every time he chanced a look at his face.

“It’s-“ Damen crooked his fingers, angling differently inside him. Laurent made himself release the sheets. “Enough.”

Laurent sat back, feeling the way Damen’s gazed raked the entirety of his body like he were physically touching him, the line his eyes made nearly having the same impact as roughened fingers. Starting at his neck and moving down, down his torso that still felt hot with the lingering impression of lips, to his thighs where they stayed. 

The condom wrapper made a crinkling sound as Damen tore it open, Laurent moving down his legs enough so that he could roll it on. The blanket strained under them with the movement, all of Laurent’s general self preservation feeling miles away in that moment, anticipation like a heavy, physical clutch as he watched.

It was when Damen reached for himself, his left hand going to Laurent’s waist to move him that Laurent grabbed his hand, moving it out of the way. Damen’s fingers stilled, lashes fanning as he glanced up at Laurent, his eyes following their joined grip as Laurent took his second hand that was at his side and moved it to join the other, on the bed above his head.

“You don’t-“ Damen started to say, his words coming to a halt when Laurent reached back blindly, the tips of his fingers skimming the mattress. He felt the pillow, the spot where the blanket folded over at the top, finding his tie draped half off the edge.

Laurent’s gaze was pointed as he brought it forward, shifting upwards enough that he was closer up, still near enough that they could look at each other. He raised the tie in his hand so it was visible, the tip just grazing Damen’s shoulder, waiting for any sign of protest.

He received none, and that alone was enough for Laurent to bend the rest of the way, his purpose now clear. With his eyes widened a fraction and wet, parted lips, Damen closed his fingers into fists and turned them inwards so his wrists were pressed together, making it easier for Laurent to loop his tie around him and make a single, tight knot.

Leaning back, Laurent felt something new surge inside him, something he had only ever managed to read about, to fantasize about in that objective, distant way. A force of young, impulsive daring that he felt rush through him, the expression on Damen’s face as he looked up at him the only thing he could find that seemed to reflect whatever that emotion was, hot in his veins.

He was so large, so physically imposing, and not a single drop of that was diminished by the way he was stretched out on his back with his wrists bound by his uniform tie, the deep blue coils catching Laurent’s attention like a beacon. If anything, the visual of it only heightened his strength in Laurent’s eyes, making him seem that much more powerful. His shoulders were broad, the upward angle of his arms causing the muscles to bulge, accentuating each ripple of tight skin, splayed out for Laurent to touch as he pleased.

He could rip it apart if he wanted, that much was obvious. It wouldn’t take any more than a concentrated pull of his hands, the meager fabric easily coming undone to him. He could do it, if that was what he wanted.

Laurent took a hold of Damen’s cock, feeling the way his hips jerked at the first brush of his touch, followed by a deliberate relaxing of his lower body. Laurent positioned himself so that he was just above him, something alien swelling deep in his gut as he rubbed against him, Damen’s expression tightening more with each bit of friction.

His muscles in his biceps twitched. “Laurent-“

Laurent stroked his hand down, creating a slow rhythm as he held himself just above. “Good?”

Damen opened his eyes. It was a few seconds before he answered, tongue wetting his lips. “Yes.”

 _Yes._ Laurent braced one hand on Damen’s stomach, keenly aware of how much was being bared as he felt the first press inside him. Eyes lowered, the barely controlled rise and fall of Damen’s abdomen was the only thing to center his focus as he spread his thighs a little wider and slowly, carefully began to sink himself down.

Laurent heard the sound of his other hand falling forward before he realized it had moved, both clutching him in a gradually tightened grip as he struggled to take him fully. It felt so much bigger this way, the way he tightened around him unparalleled to every other time as he moved up a fraction, exhaling through what felt like his heart in his throat before he lowered himself the rest of the way, all the way inside.

Damen’s fingers seemed to twitch in their bind, each breath he took showing in his shoulders, in the broadness of his chest. Laurent could feel the way his entire body was tense as if being held together by a rope, waiting for the first sign of assent before the restriction snapped, before he could take control. 

Laurent’s head tipped back. Not enough to arch his body, to present himself in any more desperateness than he already was. It was enough that he could avert his eyes, that he could focus on something other than the way Damen’s unfocused eyes seemed to be pulling at each of his thoughts like a puppeteer, willing him to move. Laurent’s body needed to adjust, yet the thought of waiting another moment alone seemed impossible. 

“Laurent.” Damen’s voice was jagged, a muddled nature to it like speaking had taken effort. “I want to touch you.”

Laurent leaned forward, his legs shaking a little as he lifted himself up, pulse spiking at the first push back inside him. “You can’t.”

Laurent lifted himself again, this time putting the brunt of his weight on his hands so he could roll his hips, giving an experimental nudge forward that caused his thighs to squeeze together, his body clenching around Damen’s cock.

“Fuck,” Damen groaned, any minor lift he had to his neck giving out so that his head was fallen back, his eyelids drooping. “You need to- I can’t-“

Laurent did it again, his vision wavering from the way it caused his lashes to flutter, breathing becoming a difficult thing. His hands had stretched forward towards the center of Damen’s chest, and he slowly pulled them back until his back was a straight line, his hands on Damen’s hips. He opened his own eyes, looking down as he began to move.

Throughout their few times over the past week, Laurent had begun to form some kind of an understanding of how Damen liked to have sex. He liked to touch, to wind his arms around his partners or press his face into their body as he fucked them, using his hold to direct a certain pace and implement some kind of control. On his knees or up against a wall, there wasn’t much distinction in the way Damen had chosen to take him.

That wasn’t the case now, all forms of touch or control stripped away from him as he laid beneath Laurent, unable to do anything but watch with an increasingly shattered expression as Laurent moved against his cock.

Damen’s moans were wordless, unfiltered, everything he was feeling abundantly clear from the way he responded, his hips moving up in careful, deep thrusts. Laurent wasn’t sure if he didn’t wish to hide how he felt or if he simply wasn’t able, but it was jarring to see how much he liked it, how heady it felt to see how much Damen enjoyed it.

Damen continued to thrust up, the two of them finding a rhythm where Laurent ground down, Damen pushing into him with the same determined precision as if he were holding his hips in place and fucking him at his own pace. His crossed arms pressed into the bedding, his knuckles digging in as if it would give him better leverage to move into him.

“You look so good like this,” Damen said, a strangled sound leaving his throat when Laurent pushed the hair off his face, just beginning to dampen at his nape. 

He shifted the angling of his hips just slightly, but the change was timed just with the way Laurent took him deeper, and the pulse of sensation Laurent felt from it had his head falling forward, all the different things he was feeling blurring into one. Laurent parted his lips to make breathing feel easier, moving with what felt embarrassingly close to franticness as he tried to chase that feeling.

Damen saw the reaction it had incited, or he just noticed the way Laurent’s presses were becoming less rhythmic, more crazed. Any pace he had set was gone, feeling helpless in his attempts to reach the slow build that he could feel cresting inside him, most of their movements coming from Damen thrusting into that same spot. Even without the help of his hands, Laurent felt like he was being taken apart.

“You feel so-“ Damen panted, Laurent’s hands in an iron grip around his shoulders. “I want-“

He was close. He was achingly close, and each sound of Damen’s fractured voice was only hurtling him there faster, the feel of him continuously moving inside Laurent making him bring a hand around his own cock, stroking himself with the same pace.

“Kiss me,” Damen said, and Laurent couldn’t even fathom the idea of anything else as he fell down onto an elbow, his mouth messily meeting Damen’s.

He rocked against him a few last times, Damen’s thighs straining under his as he pushed up to meet his as he came, his mouth open and breathless as he felt himself dissolve like a dam burst open, any last bit of reserve disintegrating into nothing.

Laurent wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, collapsed against Damen’s chest with his face pressed into his neck. He felt boneless, newly lethargic as he pushed himself up and reached for the tie, not even halfway through undoing it when Damen’s wrists pulled apart, the tie whipping off like it was made of nothing.

Damen’s arms came around him at once, any concept of hesitation a distant notion as he pushed himself against the mattress so they rolled, Laurent hardly on his back before Damen was spreading his thighs apart and pushing back into him in one quick, smooth thrust.

Laurent’s eyes were closed as Damen wrapped him in his arms, the way his face was pressed in his neck allowing Laurent to leave his features unmasked, his expression open. He felt the warmth of Damen’s mouth against his skin, any sounds he was making stifled as he fucked into him fast and hard, chasing his own release.

He didn’t know how long had passed before his body stilled, Laurent’s legs still fallen apart as he came inside Laurent with a loud, muffled groan.

It felt like a wide, endless stretch of time before Damen pulled out of him, rolling onto his back so they were less than a hair apart, both of them gazing up at the ceiling above them.

“Fuck,” Damen said, his voice sounding wrecked. Laurent understood, he was still trying to regulate his own breathing. “You’re an enigma.” 

Laurent passed a hand down his face, his body still feeling everything, some small part of him unsure if he would be able to get up if he tried. He wanted to move, to pull something over himself, and didn’t know how to go about doing that without making it more obvious.

But it didn’t seem to matter because Damen pushed himself up, turning himself away so that he could move to the edge of the bed, no longer looking at each other. He leaned down to retrieve the things that had fallen onto the floor, his back muscles tensing as he pulled his boxers on.

Neither of them spoke as Damen dressed himself, and it was a different kind of silence that Laurent was completely unaccustomed to, uncomfortably out of his expertise. He didn’t possess the mannerisms that typically came with this sort of thing, and he didn’t feel that inclined to pretend otherwise, preferring to just watch in silence.

Damen pushed his feet into his shoes, turned back to Laurent as he pulled his rumpled blazer onto his untucked shirt. He saw the symbol of their school’s crest, the image of seeing Damen in the halls the next day in their sheltered, pristine state flashing through his mind. Carefully, he pushed it away.

“You look like a mess,” he said, lifting his eyes to Damen’s. The brown looked very bright in his rooms lighting. Different. “Everyone will know what you’ve been doing.”

The corner of Damen’s lips lifted, his knee pushing back into the mattress as he sat halfway. “You should see yourself, sweetheart.” 

Laurent made a displeased sound, flicking his eyes away. “Get out of my house,” he said, hearing how it came out. 

Laurent felt the bedding dip further, and he turned his head aside just as Damen leaned down, a head of curls the only thing he saw as he felt a brief kiss to his shoulder blade.

Damen pulled back, retrieving his bag off the floor and tossing it over back. “See you tomorrow,” he said, stepping out the doorway and closing it the second he slipped out.

Laurent was frowning at the door as he heard the sound of someone taking the steps, his fingertips light on his shoulder.

 

Laurent was someone who, on principle, believed in choices.

He believed that they mattered, that they made a difference. That none were really frivolous, even if you managed to convince yourself of that in the moment. Whether it was the moments after or the days after, your choices caught up with you and slowly, inevitably, changed things.

Laurent was the kind of person who understood his choices, why he did the things he did. He always had. Every move was calculated, because life couldn’t be made up of a web of mistakes and missteps. It couldn’t be that fragile.

It was a few nights later, with Laurent’s bed shirt ridden up and his fingers skimming the fresh marks on his stomach that he considered that, considered when his choices had started becoming so blind. So impulsively indulgent, like they wouldn’t lead to any repercussions.

He thought of that very afternoon, walking through the east wing of school to his seventh hour when he felt a hand on his wrist, pulling him down a different corridor. He’d scowled. He’d expressed dull interest. He’d followed behind with worrisome eagerness.

Laurent closed his eyes, wondering how long the marks would stay. How long you could straddle a line before it was officially crossed.

He slept.


	2. Chapter 2

There were two things to note when it came to Laurent, two aspects that stood out and couldn’t be ignored. He was unbelievably striking, in a way that seemed to be so effortless that his beauty had to be unintentional. He was also an unimaginable pain in the ass, in a way that was anything but unintentional. Truth be told, his irritating quality was probably just as effortless. 

The thing was, Damen didn’t care. Or at the very least, his body didn’t care. How was anybody supposed to hold themselves back because of obnoxious comments or a nose in the air attitude when they finally knew what it was like to feel Laurent’s body move against theirs, to have him focus all of his sharp, blue eyed gaze on them?

Laurent was still snide with him in public. He was still snide with him in private, not much of his personality magically changing despite whatever it was that they were doing. He still liked to make everything difficult. He still liked to find a way to slip a bitchy remark in with most things that left his mouth. He still seemed astounded every time Damen displayed an ounce of intellect, though those flashes across his face were steadily becoming a prelude to something else, something like consideration rather the usual doubt. 

But then, there was more, despite how much Laurent tried to act otherwise. There was something different, the beginning chip in a marble statue that stayed as is, not seeming to get any bigger or smaller before it slowly, deliberately, began to spread until eventually, shattered pieces everywhere. 

It never failed to amaze Damen, only managing to confuse him more. He hardly knew what he was doing, and that perplexity only seemed to grow every time he realized that Laurent was slightly less of the cold, untouchable tyrant he had always pegged him to be, and might be someone who smiled at librarians and helped angry, snappish kids with their schoolwork.

Something else that surprised him was how much Laurent seemed to love kissing. One night they had started to as an interlude into something more, but they had gotten so caught up in it that they had ended up rolling around on Laurent’s bed and did nothing more than make out. Earlier that week, he’d been walking down the hall at the end of his break with no destination in mind, only to run into Laurent and have him take him to the silent study room in the library. Laurent had pushed him down onto one of the chairs after drawing the blinds closed, only to straddle his lap and hold his head in place as he kissed him until the bell rang. Damen had gone to calculus with a slight case of blue balls, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind that much when he could still taste Laurent’s lips.

Those were the thoughts that took up a sizable amount of Damen’s concentration, primarily on the days he knew he and Laurent would be getting together to work at one of their houses. Those days were also some of Nikandros’ more testy ones, that one no exception. 

“You can’t just reschedule?” Nikandros asked, looping the towel around his neck as he walked across he wet floor, towards his locker.

“Nope,” Damen said, rubbing on deodorant before pulling his black t-shirt off the top shelf. 

“C’mon man,” Nikandros said. “You always watch the game with us.”

“I can’t tonight.” Damen was sitting on the edge of the wooden bench, pushing his feet into his sneakers. “We need to work on the project, I told him I’d be available after practice.” 

“Right,” Nikandros slammed his locker shut. “It’s a term assignment you’re eager to get to.”

Damen smiled at the ground, tugging at his shoelaces. “You know how important my studies are to me.”

“Fuck you,” Nikandros said. He pulled his gym bag off the floor, shoving his jersey inside. “I can’t believe you’re actually fucking him. _Him_. Of all people.”

“I don’t remember ever saying that I was,” Damen replied. 

“I’ve seen him,” Nikandros said flatly. “And I’ve seen your back.”

Damen smiled again. He pushed himself up, clapping Nik on the back before he grabbed the strap of his own bag. “See you tomorrow.”

 

Damen was on his back on his couch, his legs kicked up on the coffee table while he tapped his pen against his forehead and tried to zone out everything Laurent was saying.

It wasn’t quite working. Laurent was loud when he felt like it, and it wasn’t always as easy as simply ignoring him. For one thing, Laurent refused to be ignored. For another, Damen liked to hear him talk. Laurent had good opinions on most things, and Damen generally found himself riveted.

It was a very rare occasion where Damen found his focus begin to slip. Damen liked hard work, he preferred it. Slacking off wasn’t something that he understood, a philosophy that he and Laurent seemed to share. He wasn’t sure what it was at times like these, why he opted to space out or to stare at Laurent while he worked, rather work on something himself. He thought it might have to do with enjoying how flustered it made Laurent.

Case in point, Laurent glanced up from his book and shook his head, his lip curling when he saw the way Damen was reclined. “You’re not listening.”

Damen crossed his legs. “I’m listening.”

“What was I saying?”

“You were talking about the characters’ backstory,” Damen replied. “Which we’ve already discussed, multiple times. We decided how we’re gong to go about it, and we said we would put it all down next time. I don’t know why you insist on rethinking everything.”

“There’s nothing wrong with looking at things from different angles,” Laurent said. “I want to make sure we’ve considered every option.”

“You have,” Damen said. “We have.”

He could tell Laurent wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He tended to take on an eerie calmness when he was annoyed, and his acidic comments usually came out when vexation turned into anger. He didn’t seem quite there yet, so Damen pushed himself up and leveled him with a look.

“We’ll dedicate the entire next session to characters next time,” Damen said. “You can annoy me about it then.”

They had gotten the brunt of the hard parts out of the way, and they could now be more sparing with how often they got together to work if they wanted to. They’d been rather consistent thus far, but that hardly had to do with their literary enthusiasm, despite how lax Laurent managed to act about that. 

Laurent’s eyebrows made a flat line. Damen felt his mouth twitch in a burgeoning smile, and he could tell from Laurent’s expression that he didn’t seem to appreciate it.

Damen got up from the couch. “Are you hungry?”

Laurent’s eyes followed him rise. “What.”

“We usually get together later, I didn’t get a chance to eat,” he explained, walking to the door. “Have you eaten?”

Damen put a hand on the door, turning to look when he didn’t receive an answer. Laurent was in the same spot, looking at Damen like he had suggested he eat furniture. “You’re not _feeding me”._

“I didn’t say I would spoon feed you,” Damen said, pulling the door open. “But I can if you want.”

A muscle clenched in Laurent’s jaw. It was such a familiar look for him, and yet Damen couldn’t help but think of all the other expressions Laurent had. The more private, intimate ones that Damen was somehow lucky enough to see, ones he was seeing more and more every time he closed his eyes or looked his direction in class, which was never a good idea.

He cleared his own throat. Pulled the door open. “I’m bringing us food,” he said, stepping into the hall. “Don’t be stubborn.” 

Damen jogged down the stairs and into the kitchen quickly, not putting it past Laurent to gather his things and leave before he got back to the room. Their housekeeper was gone for the day, but Damen knew Lykaios tended to pre make meals for them on Sundays so they would be set for most of the week if his mom wasn’t able to cook one night.

When he came back into the room, he was carrying two water bottles and a tray of most of the food he could find, not knowing what exactly Laurent was hungry for, or how much of an appetite he had to begin with. He set the tray down on the table between them, tossing him a bottle.

Laurent caught it without looking, his focus not straying from the table. Damen reached for a fork as he pulled one of the plates forward. “ _Should_ I feed you?”

Laurent lifted his head. “What is this.”

Damen took a bite of a pickle, pointing his fork to one of the bowls. “Those green things are cucumbers.” 

That seemed to confuse him more. He kept looking between each dish like he had never seen meat before.

“I didn’t know what you wanted,” Damen said, suddenly feeling how awkward this could be, which in hindsight was ridiculous. “I’ve seen you eat salads at lunch before, so I-“ he pointed again, rather obviously.

Laurent was still holding the bottle between both hands. His jaw tensed again. “Why do you know what I eat?”

“You eat in the courtyard where I practice every day,” Damen said. He didn’t say anything else, because it was as simple as that. 

When Laurent still made no move to eat, Damen felt a small twitch of irritation. “Would you relax?” he said, dropping his fork. “It’s just a meal.”

“You and I don’t _share meals_ ,” Laurent said.

“You’re right,” Damen said. “We also don’t fuck.”

Laurent stared at him. He stared back. Even then, it was unbelievable to Damen that they were even doing whatever it was that they were doing, and that Laurent wanted it. It was like a switch with him. Once one of them made a move, he was this brand new person that acted like there was nothing else he would rather be doing, flashes of his tenacious, assertive personality showing through in a way that Damen liked far more than he thought he would, making it all even better.

And then, he was still like this. He was stubborn, holding up this wall around him like there was nothing he wanted less than for Damen to actually get to know him. And Damen didn’t even know _why_ he seemed to be trying to. This was _Laurent._

It was comical, almost. The more Damen used that line as a defense, the less impact it seemed to have.

With their eyes still locked, Laurent set his water bottle down and picked up his own fork.

“I don’t like tomatoes,” he said, pulling the bowl forward. “Don’t put them next time.”

It was a about a full minute of the two of them chewing in silence before Damen realized he was smiling.

 

The next time, it was Laurent who initiated things.

Damen wasn’t expecting it. Granted, he learned to never really expect anything anymore with Laurent, being that the ability to defy all expectations and make you rethink everything you thought you knew about him seemed to be high in his skillset. 

Their back and forth of dwelling in their dislike of each other and then pulling each other’s clothes off was becoming somewhat of a repetitive theme for them, yet the amount of things they had done were still finite enough that Damen could probably count them on both hands. Still, it was never anything short of a surprise when it was Laurent who made the first move.

They had been sitting across the table from each other, the two of them jotting down a comprehensive list of everything they’d finalized during that session like they tended to. Damen had glanced up to ask him how many pages he had, only to see Laurent beside him. 

Laurent said nothing about it, simply sat there watching Damen work like they had been side by side the entire night. Damen hesitated with his pencil poised against the paper, a few seconds ticking by before he set his things down. 

It had been a few days since they’d done anything. The last time had been in Laurent’s room, where Damen had bent him over the back of the couch and fucked him from behind, his face never straying from the spot between his shoulder and neck. He’d had one hand around his waist, his other working Laurent’s cock with Laurent’s fingers on top of his.

He lifted an elbow, splaying it against the top of the cushion. He said nothing, choosing to wait and see what Laurent said first.

He didn’t have to wait long. He’d barely had enough time to consider what they could do before Laurent was leaning into his lap, pulling Damen’s mouth against his.

It was second nature to kiss him back, pulling Laurent into him more automatic than a magnetic pull. He loved the way Laurent felt against him, sturdy and strong with an underlying yielding that was as thrilling as it was sweet, at times going soft in his arms in a way that Damen wanted to remember every time they locked eyes.

They hadn’t talked about it since their second time, a silent understanding that had been set between them. Damen wasn’t entirely sure how Laurent felt at nights before he slept or in the mornings before the day began, and in that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pondering the mechanisms of everything or talking about the how and why was the last thing he felt like doing when he had Laurent pulling both of their jackets off, Damen’s shirt already half pulled apart between his hands.

The couch was large, considerably wide in the way that Damen was able to push Laurent onto his back and crowd over him, Laurent’s arms already winding around his neck.

Damen knew how to take his time. He did, but there was something about Laurent that made his body want to hurtle, to push them both past any barriers and into ecstasy. Laurent’s leg lifted and wrapped around his waist, and the firm press of it, the way it brought them together pulled a long groan out of Damen’s chest.

It was a constant paradox to be with Laurent, one Damen didn’t think he would ever find the solution to. He wanted to have it all at once, to take everything in his hands and to revel in it as soon as possible, and yet another part of him wanted to slow it down, to draw everything out and see the way Laurent would react to the caress of a thumb, to the gentlest nosing against his thigh.

It was with his shirt hitting the ground, Laurent’s half pushed down and tangled around his elbows that Damen managed to break away, hovering a few inches above him.

“Bed,” Damen said, the sound of his panting as evident as the way his chest moved. “I want you in my bed.”

Laurent blinked, his eyes a little dazed like his mind was taking a few seconds to catch up with the words. His mouth was red, and Damen didn’t know how to hold himself back from leaning back down and taking his parted lips between his own.

Laurent accepted it without argument, his fingers pushing into Damen’s hair in a way that scraped against his scalp, tugging hard. Damen felt like gelatin against him, and it was with a heroic amount of strength that he pulled himself off the couch, taking Laurent with him.

They stumbled to the bed in clumsy attempts, both of them tripping over their feet with every step they took. Laurent’s hands were pushing at the waistband of his own pants before they had even made it halfway across the room, and it took every ounce of self-preservation Damen had not to drop to his knees and pull them down the rest of the way himself.

They undressed gracelessly, Damen’s push not too gentle so that Laurent fell onto the mattress in a rush. He was mind-blowing like that, splayed under Damen like an offering with his perfectly proportioned body, his normally smoothed down hair disturbed around him.

Damen moved on top of him, smoothing a hand up his thigh as he looked his fill, feeling the muscle flex in his palm.

“You’re-“ Damen licked his lips, not having the words. He was unreal. “God, I want you.”

Laurent licked his own lips, a candid, suggestive gesture. Damen knew enough about him to know that the licentiousness of it was more for show than sincerity, though he noticed the way his legs spread apart just a little more. Damen’s body drove forward without even meaning to, his head falling down from the way Laurent felt against him.

He felt Laurent lift himself slightly, his mouth close enough to Damen’s ear that he could feel the soft breaths before he spoke, the first movement of his lips like a whisper against his skin.

“I saw you practice today in the courtyard,” he said, his hand moving down the notches of Damen’s spine. “I thought about later.” His hands moved down more. “This.”

Damen couldn’t quite control the sound that left him, more of his weight giving out so his face was pressed in Laurent’s neck. Laurent was still touching him as his lips found his earlobe. 

“You don’t like me in school,” Damen said, making himself speak. His eyes were closed.

He thought he felt the curve of Laurent’s lips, but it could have been his imagination. It was hard to tell with Laurent’s touch, idle on his hips. “I never like you. But,” his fingers circled around him. “I don’t need to like you for this.”

Damen’s body was moving the more he spoke, wanton thrusts of his hips that were like sparks of heat in his thighs, spreading through the rest of him with each slide of skin. Laurent was silent throughout it; the only reason Damen knew he felt this too was because he could feel each sigh against him as their bodies met.

Damen’s face was as tight as it could be against Laurent; his lips open against his neck as he inhaled his clean scent. “Laurent.”

“Fuck me,” Laurent said. It came out sounding thick, much like the feeling in Damen’s chest.

Damen’s arms tightened around him, he couldn’t control it. He didn’t care how much he already knew, how much the mutual attraction was confirmed, hearing Laurent express the way he wanted Damen was something he would never tire of hearing. He never wanted to stop hearing it.

Damen didn’t know much about Laurent’s personal past, but he himself was far from inexperienced. He felt as if not much phased him anymore, not much giving him an unexpected rush that sparked something in him, but he remembered the night in Laurent’s room with him on top, Damen’s arms bound above him.

The memory was enough to take him apart, splintering his mind the same way it had that night when Laurent had dangled his own tie in his eyes before looping it around Damen’s wrists, their eyes locked the entire time. It had been new, absurdly out of his general area of interest, and yet Damen had conceded without a second of thought, wanting to give that to Laurent. 

He wanted that now, the appeal for it a sudden need that he couldn’t ignore, once it had sprouted. He wanted the same with Laurent, to know that Laurent trusted him, just as he did himself. 

Damen pulled back, arousal and unparalleled want cresting when Laurent followed him up hazily, a blind searching for contact. Damen moved him back down, gently, keeping a hand curled around his bicep as he looked down at him. 

“I want to try something,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Laurent swallowed, he saw it in the roll of his throat. His blue eyes were wide and unblinking on him, his shoulders a rigid line.

“You can say no,” Damen said.

Laurent’s expression shifted, but he was otherwise still unmoving. His chin dipped down a fraction, something like a nod. Damen waited for a verbal refusal, and when he received none, pushed off the bed and made for where their clothes were discarded on the floor in a trail.

Personally, Damen didn’t really care for sophistication in bed. He had a rather straightforward approach to sex in his mind, and had never seen the point in turning the giving of pleasure into something complex. But for some reason, with Laurent, he was finding enjoyment in these newer things. He wanted more, for both of them.

When Damen found his own tie hanging half off the couch, he took it by the middle and returned to his spot beside Laurent, the mattress dipping beneath him as he sat back on his heels. 

He held it up. “You used it with me.”

He watched Laurent’s eyes follow it, something he couldn’t quite place flashing behind them before it was tampered down, replaced by what might be an amused twist to his lips. He turned his steady gaze to Damen, tilting his head aside on the sheets. “Inventive.” 

His tone was limpid. Damen kept the tie raised, unmoved. “You can say no,” he repeated.

Laurent’s eyes moved again from the dark silk to Damen’s eyes. “I didn’t say no.”

Desire blazed, a vague idea of titillating intrigue steadily morphing into something that begged physicality, a craving for more. It must have showed on his face because Laurent shifted his hips, his arms beginning to rise above his head.

Damen intercepted them, ignoring the furrow of Laurent’s brows as he brought them back down to either side of his body. He leaned forward so he was above his middle, held his gaze, and brought the tie down so it was covering Laurent’s eyes. 

Lauren’s lips opened, and then stayed that way. Lingering slightly parted as if he was waiting for words to come, for thoughts to process into something concrete. His head turned a fraction, mouth eventually closing again.

“Lift your head,” he said softly.

Nothing at first, and for a moment Damen thought he had changed his mind, or decided he didn’t want to try this. He thought to say something, but then Laurent’s head was tilted up enough for Damen to slip his hands behind him, tying the knot in a light but firm tug.

Laurent settled his head back down, his chest and arms held very still as he shifted his lower body around, his fingers splayed out by his hips. Damen had a hand on one of his thighs, his other running a knuckle up the finer golden hairs on his abdomen. 

It felt overly hot in the room, the crisp breeze coming through the open windows above the bed doing nothing to soothe his skin. Longing was a painful throb, the very concept of wanting something feeling brand new, because it suddenly felt like any other form of lust Damen had ever experienced was an empty notion at best.

The deep fabric was stark against his skin, and the way it covered his eyes seemed to alter Damen’s entire perception of him. The blue of Laurent’s eyes had always been something that caught Damen’s attention, the intensity behind them being an attribute that Damen could feel penetrate just from the briefest glance, drawing Damen in from the first day he had seen him.

He couldn’t see them now, and the concealing of his eyes only drew Damen’s attention to every other part of him. The line of his jaw, the fall of his tousled golden hair. His full, pink lips that Damen wanted to see fall open in mindless pleasure. 

Damen couldn’t resist himself from running both hands down him, Laurent’s body twitching in the subtlest tremor with every unforeseen touch. His strong, taut thighs, the masculine curves of his upper body. Damen wanted to turn him onto his stomach and palm the supple curves of his ass, to taste him there. 

He was something like a dream. A contradicting, unpredictable dream that Damen never wanted to wake up from. He looked like an illicit fantasy under Damen’s hands, naked and blindfolded in his bed, feeling safe enough with him to allow Damen this kind of intimacy. 

“Laurent,” Damen said. He was balanced over him, his palm fitting over the dip of his hipbone, the tips of his knuckles ghosting over his stomach. He felt the skin tighten under him. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

Damen felt the way he curved into the touch, the slightest arch of his body so minimal that he might have not even realized that he was doing it, his body moving into the gentlest sweep of contact like it was instinctual. And yet, Damen saw how Laurent reacted, like every ounce of his blinded concentration was focused only on the press of Damen’s skin, like the loss of sight only heightened it more.

He saw Laurent’s tongue come out again, this time less of a show than before and more of a slow sweep, the tip just brushing against his upper lip. His fingers moved against the bed, and Damen had to take them in his and kiss his palm.

“Do you just intend to look at me like this?” Laurent said.

Damen couldn’t answer yet, he wasn’t sure how. He wanted everything, every possible thing that they could do and more. Laurent was rigid at times, untouchable in his temperament, but he was giving of himself now in a way that couldn’t be more rousingly alluring if Damen had fabricated the image himself. 

He lowered himself onto his elbows, careful not to let any part of their bodies touch so Laurent wouldn’t feel the way Damen’s lips neared his face, not knowing how close they were until Damen spoke.

“I want to come inside you,” he said into his ear, Laurent shuddering against him at the first brush of Damen’s lips against him. “I want to see you come like this.”

He turned Laurent’s face into his with a tilt of his fingers, taking his mouth before he could respond. Laurent seized up for just a second, his mouth stilling before he got his bearings, hands moving up Damen’s back in a timid sweep as he kissed him back, the friction of the tie cool against his face as they angled their heads a certain way.

He heard the sound their lips made as they moved together, Laurent’s own breaths between each slide apart sweetly soft, the touch of his tongue electrifying. Damen’s own wavering grip became stronger with each second, moving like he would somehow be able to touch all of Laurent at once. 

He knew Laurent couldn’t see anything, couldn’t anticipate anything Damen did, and that he was relying only on sound and touch. Selfishly, he wanted to take advantage of that. Wanted to kiss Laurent in every available spot, to see the way Laurent reacted each time a moment of nervy anticipation turned into Damen’s mouth against him again. 

The sides of his legs, the soft skin on the inside of his ankle. His waist, along his stomach where his tongue traced the cold surface of metal. Up the center of his chest, his mind already thinking of how it would feel to be pressed against him like this, Laurent’s legs wrapped around his hips as he fucked him in long, deep thrusts.

Damen heard the smallest, faintest sound when he took Laurent’s nipple in his mouth, the lightest gasp that was nothing in comparison to a loud, drawn out moan, and was somehow still the most satisfying thing he could recall ever hearing. Damen moved his attention to the other the same way, letting his tongue move along the puckered nipple in slow circles as he raised his eyes to Laurent, his hands gripping him in a way that had to be painful when he felt the way Laurent bent into his mouth.

It was a new kind of thrill, a possibility that Damen was for the first time beginning to seriously understand, but the thought of trying something like this with anyone else felt wrong, somehow. Misplaced.

His continued to explore his body, never staying in one place for long, never moving to a nearby spot that could be guessed. He was aware that time was passing, that life was going on outside the room, and yet nothing else in the world seemed to matter more than the taste of Laurent’s skin and the gentle, uncontrolled presses forward. He closed his eyes, and allowed himself to just feel it.

“ _Damen_.”

Damen froze, his entire body stopping like Laurent had reached down and grabbed him, the unexpected sound of his name having the same effect as a physical hold.

He had been bent over Laurent’s upper body, his lips gentling against the softest part of his neck, unmoving from that same hidden spot where his pulse beat an unsteady rhythm. He raised his head gradually, feeling like his lungs were being clutched. 

Laurent’s features were still, his entire face flushed. His cheeks had gone pink, and Damen didn’t know if it was from the gentle attention he had been giving his body, or from the unintentional speaking of Damen’s name, the first time he had ever said it like this.

It was so quiet, suddenly. Damen knew it was absurd that this of all things would serve as his own breaking point, but that one small slip in his carefully poised demeanor was all it took to snap Damen in half, holding Laurent’s head in his hands as he kissed him like it was the last time he would be allowed to.

“I need-“ Damen tried to say, but he couldn’t form the words. “Can I-?”

And Laurent was nodding, a slight jerk of his head that had Damen crawling over and rifling through his things, the thought of Laurent waiting for him with his cock hard against his stomach making him dizzy.

The bed creaked as Damen moved back on top of him, the sound being the only thing to hint any change to Laurent, one hand light on his own stomach. Damen looked at him, his fingers now slicked, and it was all he could do not to simply take Laurent in his mouth instead so he could bring him to the brink of pleasure even quicker. 

But then Laurent’s legs fell open, thighs spread apart for him, and all Damen could focus on was the twitch of Laurent’s hips and the way his hand fell down, his expression vulnerably ungraded as Damen pushed a first finger inside.

He was still so tight, always so much more than Damen would remember. Damen focused on Laurent’s breathing, sliding his finger backwards and forward as his body adjusted, waiting for the first shallow, barely noticeable push of his hips before he pressed another finger inside.

Laurent’s head was slightly turned to the side. His fingers were digging into the bed, his legs pushed up the mattress just slightly. He was the one on display, able to be seen without seeing anything else, but somehow it was Damen who felt exposed.

He was being allowed this. He didn’t know who else got to see Laurent like this, and the thought, unbidden, brought on a rush of jealousy that was so unexpected that it stopped Damen for a moment, the sudden feeling so startling in its intensity that he could do nothing but hold himself still, his free hand tightening around Laurent’s side as he waited for it to subside. 

Damen’s heart was pounding. He felt entirely off kilter, something he couldn’t place pushing inside him, unable to shake the force of wanting to be closer. He looked at Laurent and thought, _I have to have you._

Laurent’s chest was moving. His voice was unnaturally soft as he said, “Yes.”

Damen didn’t know if he was speaking of his own impatience, or if Damen had accidentally spoken out loud. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were both ready, that they both wanted each other.

He readied himself, stroking himself a few times before pushing up onto his knees, pulling Laurent’s body forward until he was where he needed him, legs on either side of Damen. He felt the tension rise in Laurent’s body as he lined himself up, the same way it always did, and he bent forward briefly to kiss his chin.

Laurent started at the touch, his palm tapping along Damen’s body a few times before he reached his backside, his hand smoothing down so his fingers curved into his thigh.

“Fuck me,” Laurent said.

It was all he needed to say. Damen braced a hand on the bed, positioned himself again, and entered him in one slide.

Laurent cried out as Damen pushed in deep, the sound accompanied by the feel of his nails biting into his flesh. Damen took his own lip between his teeth, welcoming the sharp sensation, and began to thrust into him in earnest.

Laurent’s lips were parted, barely audible gasps of air leaving him with each roll of Damen’s body, their hips pressing together harder with each one. He reminded himself that Laurent couldn’t see Damen, nothing in the darkness he was bathed in but the sensation of Damen inside him, the feel of his hands smoothing down his sides. The thought only spurred him on, a newly inarticulate sound leaving Laurent’s mouth when he pushed into him deeper.

He should be used to it by now, with the amount of times they had been together. Laurent’s body was something Damen was beginning to understand, his reactions somewhat of a second nature to him when they were like this, but there was no growing used to the way Laurent felt, the way he looked when someone made love to him.

Damen’s hand glided down his leg, his palm finding its way under his knee so he was pushing him up, the front of Laurent’s thigh pressed against his chest. The position shifted their bodies, the new angle driving Damen in a different way. Laurent’s hands grappled against his front until they found his neck, pulling Damen down as he drove into him again and again.

It felt primal like this, raw, Laurent’s eyes hidden away from him as Damen brought them closer with each joined thrust. He felt lost to it, weak to the way Laurent’s body began to shudder under his, pulling him even closer.

It was new, it was good, yet in those in those last moments Damen still found himself pulling the tie off, unable to look anywhere else but dark blue eyes, widening a fraction in a way that altered the rate of Damen’s breathing as Laurent came against him, pulsing against his stomach.

Damen made himself slow in his last few thrusts, tampering his body down to a gentle rocking as he dropped his head to Laurent’s shoulder, unsure what it was exactly that he murmured into his neck as he came himself in thick, hot surges. 

He felt boneless after, his body wrung out as his weight fell on top of Laurent, the sound of his breathing unsteady in Damen’s ear. He remained like that, overcome by lassitude, managing to do nothing more but nuzzle his face in beside Laurent’s, his entire body warm in Laurent’s arms.

 

The semester seemed to be rolling by quick that year, faster than it had the previous ones. Coach Makedon was being exceptionally hard on them lately, and with Thanksgiving break coming up their papers were only piling on. Damen felt torn between feeling like there wasn’t enough time to split between everything, and trying to find ways to fit all of his time into this one singular thing. 

Guymar was hosting some party a few nights later, some birthday or milestone that Damen couldn’t recall. Their friend groups tended to run in different circles, but Guymar was his teammate and he knew most of the guys would be going. Damen had been unsure at first, not knowing if he wanted to spare one of his free nights to another event, but Nikandros had mentioned that it would be at the new lounge on Marlas that they’d yet to try, and he’d heard good things. Also, he may have caught a glance of a certain RSVP text the other night. 

He and Laurent were set to work a little more tonight, that day solely dedicated to the relationships their chosen author had cultivated throughout their life. Damen’s house was being used for some neighborhood get together, and his car had been taken into the shop that week, Pallas giving him a ride to school instead. He’d mentioned his lack of ride and location to Laurent with the expectation of rescheduling, but Laurent had simply texted him back that they would leave together and he would drop him off at home after.

The thought was… odd. He knew it was merely a ride, but the two of them didn’t exactly associate in school, unless it was for an impulsive quickie in whatever spot they could find. Still, it wasn’t quite like them to leave together, striding out the door and into the same car like they were - friends. 

That was what Damen had been thinking about that afternoon after school, seated on the school steps with his phone tapping against his hand when he felt a bag swing into his side.

He didn’t startle at the collision, only glanced down at where his shoulder had been hit before looking up to see Laurent standing above him, looking down at Damen.

“Let’s go,” Laurent said, beginning to walk past him and down the stairs.

Damen pushed himself up, grabbing his bag that had been between his legs before jogging after Laurent to catch up with him.

“How was your day?” Damen asked, pushing his hands in his pockets.

Laurent made a sort of humming sound, stepping around the two girls that were in their way. They were staring at the two of them, though Damen didn’t recognize either of them and assumed it was nothing more than mindless gawking. 

“Should we hold hands?” Damen asked.

Laurent glanced at him as they stepped through the gate, walking towards the line of cars. “Do you want to walk to my house?”

Damen smiled. “My day was great.”

“That’s nice,” Laurent said, and thought his tone was half sarcastic, the expression on his face seemed to lack the general malice that Damen had once been so used to. He lifted a hand, motioning for his driver to meet them at the curb.

Damen’s laughter was a soft breath, the two of them not needing to wait a second before the car pulled up. Laurent was the kind of person that drove around in a sleek black limo when he could easily drive himself, and while it was slightly pretentious, Damen found that he liked that part of him. It was wildly unnecessary, and he didn’t seem to care who thought that.

Damen went in first; ducking his head as he bent down, Laurent sliding in after him so they were on the same side. The door was shut behind them, only a few seconds ticking by before the driver was back at the front, putting the car back in drive.

The windows were tinted from the outside, one of the first things Damen had noticed before getting in, though it was relatively clear form the inside. He could see the bright green trees and all the different cars around them, everything passing by in a blur as they sped down the narrow roads.

“Are you going to Guymar’s?” Damen asked. 

Laurent arranged his legs in front of him, slumped back in a way that stretched his leg out while somehow still looking graceful. “You know I am.”

“I’ll be there,” Damen said, not really knowing why he was telling Laurent that. 

Laurent’s response was a slow nod. It was minute enough that it bordered on a courtesy acknowledgment, but he still surprised Damen when he said, “Are you friends?”

“I’m friends with all my teammates,” Damn said, after a short silence. He spread one hand around the backrest of the seat, his other on top of Laurent’s knee. “Coach sort of expects it.”

He could feel Laurent’s leg shaking up and down as he nodded again. He didn’t reply at first, just watched as a car rolled passed them before speaking. 

“We’re not close,” he said. “But he’s a good guy.”

The insight gave Damen pause again, not entirely sure what to do with this information. He was now used to a range of different things with Laurent, though simple conversation for the sake of it wasn’t exactly at the top of the list. But then he felt the touch of Laurent’s fingers, and that effectively managed to cease all other thoughts. He looked down, blinking.

Damen hadn’t realized that his hand had been moving, rubbing his palm along Laurent’s thigh until he had covered Damen’s hand with his. Taking that as a clear indication to stop, he pulled away without further question. He turned to gaze back out the window.

But Laurent’s hand found his again, this time on Damen’s wrist. His fingers curled just above the sleeve of his jacket, the pads of his fingers light on Damen’s skin. “Performance anxiety?”

“Excuse me?” Damen said.

Laurent’s face didn’t change, but his eyes moved over Damen’s shoulder and towards the direction of the driver, having been mute since they’d gotten in the car. His eyes were forward, unmoving from his view of the street. 

“No,” Damen said, though the idea of doing anything with Laurent in front of anyone else was not ideal.

“Because it can be taken care of,” Laurent said, likely referring to some form of a barrier that came in most limousines. His fingers were still on Damen.

“Eager?” Damen asked.

“It’s a boring ride,” Laurent said as a response.

“Is it?”

“Around ten minutes if we don’t hit traffic.” Laurent said. “Should be enough.”

It wasn’t the first joke of the sort Laurent had made, but Damen wouldn’t be provoked. Laurent deserved better than something hasty and rushed in the backseat of a car, no matter how much the thought was – admittedly – beginning to appeal.

Damen tugged inwards to bring Laurent into him, catching his face with his free hand as he kissed him long and slow, the way he knew he liked. Laurent responded to it, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he overcame some internal conflict, settling on the lapel of Damen’s blazer.

“I want you in your bed,” Damen said against his mouth.

Laurent kissed him instead of answering, both hands now holding Damen so he could pull him in tighter.

Sometime through the rest of the ride, they paused long enough to actually press the partition button on the door handle, a black panel going up between them and their driver. By the time they finally arrived to Laurent’s mansion, Damen was ready to wrap him in his arms and carry him to his bedroom so they would never have to break apart.

 

The night of Guymar’s party ended up being a series of different, unexpected events.

It had started the way most of these things did. Damen either took a town car with his friends or drove himself, depending on everyone else’s situation and if he panned on drinking. He preferred to have his wits about him that night so he messaged their groupchat that he would meet them there, right before stepping into the shower.

He walked down the pathway after leaving his car with the valley, tilting his head back enough that he could take in the large building, different colored lights streaming out from the different balconies, a explosion of hues and noise coming from the roof where the invitation directed everyone.

Damen knew enough about most of these establishments that the private parties were restricted to the regular guests, a code being needed to access the certain floor where the event was taking place. Entering the lobby, it only took him a few seconds to spot the check in desk, making his way over in an easy stride.

“Hi,” he said to the person sitting at the computer, his elbows leaned forward on the marble. When the young man glanced up form the screen, Damen grinned. “I’m here for Lounge B.”

The man nodded twice, reaching forward for a stack of forms where Damen assumed the codes were listed. Before he managed to speak however, a hand landed on Damen’s arm, followed by, “I can take him up.”

Damen turned his head, blinking twice at the blonde who had a hand curled around his bicep. He seemed a bit older than Damen himself, though Damen had at least two inches on him. He was vaguely recognizable, and it took a tilt of his lips before Damen placed him.

“Auguste,” Damen said, the end of the name lilting in a questioning tone, just in case.

The man’s smile spread, his hand moving to clap Damen on the back in a way that said _walk._

“Damen,” Auguste said, beginning to walk himself. Damen matched his stride easily, hands at his sides. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Damen said. His mind was fighting to be present, though all he could manage to think of was how much of Laurent he saw in him. “Are you friends with Guymar? Laurent mentioned you graduated a few years ago.”

Auguste pressed the button to call the elevator, looking at it as Damen spoke like the way it lit up amused him. “He has a sister that was in my year. We dated.”

“Right,” Damen said, stepping in after him. He leaned his back against the mirrored wall and crossed his arms, Auguste pressing a code in before standing in a similar pose.

Damen hadn’t gotten a good chance to look at him last time, coming in and out of Laurent’s room too quick for them to get acquainted, Laurent dismissing him after a few seconds. Damen remembered the way it hadn’t seemed to bother Auguste, like he was well accustomed to the prickle of Laurent’s rose bush personality, and was pleased by it.

He was taller than Laurent, a bit more visibly broad across the shoulders. His hair was a darker shade of blonde, slightly longer, though it was the same blue eyes looking back at him. He was like a watered down version of his younger brother.

Damen saw as those eyes seemed to light up, crinkling a bit at the corners. 

“So,” Auguste said, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Tell me about Laurent.”

Damen heard the elevator go up two more floors, a _ding_ sounding out with each. “Laurent.”

“My brother, yes.”

“I don’t-“ Damen shifted his feat, unable to gage how Auguste was looking at him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Auguste flicked his eyes over to the floor number, and Damen looked to see that they still had about twenty to go. 

“You’re spending a lot of time together,” Auguste supplied.

Damen rubbed at the back of his neck, and then told himself to stop. He lowered his hand, but then found that it was just dangling at his side awkwardly. He cleared his throat softly, discreetly. 

“We’re partners,” Damen said. Which was true, they were. It was why they were together so often, lately.

“You seem close,” Auguste said.

“We’re not-“ Damen said, stopping again. It wasn’t a big deal, they were just- fooling around, but it wasn’t exactly something they acknowledged amongst each other when it wasn’t actually happening, let alone spoke about to others. He knew siblings tended to talk about these things, but he didn’t know if Auguste was needling because he cared or because he would use it as something to tease Laurent about, to offend him. 

“He’s great,” Damen said, feeling like that was the safest bet. Laurent was a lot of things, he figured somebody had to have used that adjective to describe him at some point. “Laurent’s great.”

That, for some reasons, was what made Auguste actually laugh. He tipped his head back on the glass wall. “Well, now I know you’re lying.”

Damen could feel his frown from the way his brows pinched. He stood a little straighter. “You don’t like Laurent?” 

It was probably a bit forward, but it had just come out, and Damen wasn’t about to take it back.

“Oh, no.” The expression on Auguste’s face changed. His temperament was still light, but he was no longer laughing. “Laurent is the best person I know. He just doesn’t like for other people to know that.”

Damen wasn’t sure what to say to that, or if anything was even expected to be said. The doors chimed one final time, sliding open to let the music pour in between them. He glanced around the party before looking back at Auguste.

“He’s… Laurent,” Damen said, which somehow felt like enough.

Auguste smiled at that. For a brief flash he saw Laurent’s own smile, the one he wore when he didn’t realize he was being looked at. 

“Yeah,” he said, stepping out and lifting a hand. “I’ll see you around, Damen.”

Damen lingered there for a few seconds, waiting for the odd haze of confusion to pass. He watched as Auguste walked towards where two taller girls standing together, only looking away when his own name was called. He turned his head and saw Aktis, standing by the side and waving him over.

It wasn’t long before Damen found himself with the rest of his group, everyone sitting around a smaller table that was littered with bottles, glasses and buckets of ice. The ledges around the roof were made of glass, the entire city on display beneath them in sprinkles of glowing lights, everyone looking like ants from their vantage.

Damen waved away the joint that was circulating, glancing around the rest of the party. The roof was wide, and it astounded him how many people could actually fit up there without it feeling overcrowded, enough room between each huddled cluster and the groups of people dancing in the center. It was much less posh than most of the parties they attended, their clothing alone proving the notion.

The music was loud; Damen could feel it thumping throughout his body like the blood running through his veins. He ran a thumb along his bottom lip, slowly, and it was as one song faded into the next that Damen saw him.

Beside him, the conversation went on, someone being asked if they were almost finished. With what, Damen didn’t know. He was too busy watching the way Laurent looked on the edge of a leather couch, leaning his palms behind him so he could tilt his head back, laughing at whatever it was the guy he was speaking to was saying.

There was the same voice, closer this time, but Laurent pushed a strand of hair behind his ear and Damen couldn’t hear anything beyond his pulse in his ears. The sleeves of his shirt were short despite the cool evening, the lines of his bicep visible. He was laughing again.

“For fuck sake, Damen,” someone said by his ear, a foot diving into his ankle.

“Shit,” Damen said, shifting his body. “What?”

“What are you even-“ Nikandros said, turning to the direction Damen had been facing. He looked for a few seconds, the light eventually leaving his eyes.

“Oh,” he muttered.

“What?” Damen repeated.

“Nothing,” Nikandros said, lifting the bottle of beer to his lips. “Not like you’re listening.”

“Of course I’m listening,” Damen said, his mind on how lean Laurent’s legs looked in his jeans. He glanced over again in hopes of possibly catching his eye, only to see that Laurent was already watching him. 

He was in the same position, a casual recline, though his attention was no longer on anything or anyone else, a straight line that led directly to where Damen was sitting. Damen willed himself to hold the challenging stare, to not look away.

“Sure,” Nikandros said. Or something like that.

Laurent raised a brow, unhurried, as if he could hear their conversation and was humored by it. It wasn’t possible of course, but Damen still felt the distance melt away like Laurent was right there, beside him. He felt the party slip farther away.

Until someone called his name, and Damen had no choice but to break the trance, the reluctant pull something akin to pressing together opposing magnets.

He turned in question, forcibly pushing down his rapidly grown irritation when all Lydos wanted was for him to pass him the bottle of ciroc. He hid it well, returning Lydos’ smile of gratitude with a nod before sitting himself back down.

He adjusted himself similarly as he turned back to look at him, and it was with a slight lapse in awareness that he saw Laurent’s attention somewhere else entirely. He was sitting the opposite way, now leaning forward on his elbows as he nodded along to Jord, chin on his fist. Damen watched him lift his head and motion around with the same hand as he responded, unsure what to make of the strange, throbbing sensation he felt, clouding in his chest like a cotton ball soaked in acetone. 

He began to lower his eyes, just as his phone vibrated against him. He lifted his body and slid it out of his back pocket with a repressed sigh, sliding his thumb along the text so his phone would go straight to the message when it unlocked. He didn’t see who it might be given that all of the people he knew were there with him, or at least all of the people that would be texting him. He brought the phone closer to his face.

Damen felt the tapping of his foot stop when he saw the contact light up on his phone, the breath in his throat catching similarly when he read the message.

_I’m fucking you tonight._

Damen closed his parted lips, his neck feeling very hot as he read the text a second time, a third. He glanced around as inconspicuously as possible to see if anyone had noticed, only looking at Laurent after.

He still wasn’t looking at Damen. He was speaking to Orlant now, leaning close so Orlant’s mouth was near his ear, listening to him over the music. His phone was nowhere in sight.

Damen glanced back down to his phone, his thumbs feeling a little unsteady as he licked his lips. He could feel the flush on his cheeks, the way the words had caused his heart to beat a little off kilter, and yet Damen couldn’t stop himself from texting back, _why not now?_

He didn’t set the phone down, didn’t even lock it as he stared forward and waited, knowing Laurent would be feeling the vibration of his response any second. 

A drink was tried to be placed in Damen’s hand, which he rejected. Someone attempted to engage him in conversation, which he responded to halfheartedly enough that it eventually ceased. A song ended, and another one began. Laurent was suddenly a social fucking butterfly. 

And then, finally, a crack in his demeanor. He turned away from Rochert with a lifted finger, reaching into his pocket so he could pull out his own phone, unlocking in and typing in a passcode with his left hand, his right hand sprawled out on the armrest.

Damen watched him, heart knocking against his ribcage as he waited for a text, a nod, a tilt of his head to a certain direction, any direction but this place with all these people. His palms felt warm, skin too tight. He waited.

When Laurent looked at him, it was with a gradual lift of his eyes, his head still tipped down towards the phone that was on his knee. Damen though of what he might reply, his mind already conjuring all the responses that Laurent’s sharp tongue could come up with, a new, almost bashful sort of thrill surging through his bloodstream.

Laurent locked his phone, pocketed it, and turned back to Rochert with a gesture for him to continue. 

It was a few more lengthy, futile minutes of empty silence before Damen realized that it was going to be a long night of waiting, nothing but his thoughts and the knowledge of Laurent’s close presence to add on to what he could feel slowly building inside him.

 

It was later that night, with Damen on his back in Laurent’s bed when he realized that something was different.

He didn’t exactly know what it was, what had caused him to feel like something fundamental had indisputably, unequivocally shifted. 

Maybe it was the way Laurent had kissed Damen as he backed him into his room, intercepting his hand each time he had tried to undress himself. Maybe it was the way he had brought a hand to Damen’s shoulder, keeping him the way he was when Damen had gone to turn onto his stomach, leaving them chest to chest so they were looking at each other.

Damen had never done this before. It had never occurred to him, had never been something that he could see himself wanting, could see himself doing with anyone. That much had to have been apparent in the small moments where his body had stilled, his eyes averting uncharacteristically. 

But he wanted it. He wanted it more than anything, in the quiet space between them with Laurent’s flushed cheeks, his fingers working Damen open with a careful, attentive touch that Damen would once never believe, and now had grown to expect from him. 

Maybe it had been Laurent’s hands, taking Damen’s in his and placing them on his own hips, like he was guiding him. It was an uncomfortable place for Damen to be, so unsure and uncertain like he was out of his own body, a whole other person. Yet somehow between each flicker of breath, each shift of their heads where their gazes caught, he saw that Laurent was in the same place.

It was almost instinctual after that, like everything else was between them. Damen’s hands gliding down the span of his back, palming his backside so he could feel the firmness there, could bring Laurent even deeper. 

Laurent seemed torn throughout the whole thing, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to place his focus on the roll of his hips or the way he was kissing Damen. Unreserved and almost urgent, unlike the gentle way he was bringing them together, making Damen feel a fullness he had never felt before, in more ways than one. Damen never had any idea of how Laurent would fuck, but he took Damen in a way that was somehow both considerate, sweet, and impatient with vigor. 

He looked up at the ceiling with Laurent splayed out beside him, still feeling like his heartbeat was trying to catch up with the rest of him. His breaths were coming uneven, and a large part of his concentration was focusing heavily on not turning onto his side and pulling Laurent back into him. He could hear him breathing as well, and he wanted to know what it would feel like against Damen’s skin with his face buried in his neck.

Laurent’s hand brushed his. Everything was different.

 

Laurent was having fun. That’s all it was. 

He was typically a little stressed, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to take other people’s problems and concerns on himself. He wanted to do, to feel like he was helping to the best of his ability, and at times it could be a bit much. 

It wasn’t a wrong to have something that took your mind off things, that lifted your mood and gave a warm, safe feeling deep inside. Everyone deserved it, and that included Laurent. He’d just never expected for that thing to be Damen.

It was still strange, a concept Laurent hardly managed to come to terms with. Something he never would have believed at the beginning of the term, had someone told him that the sight of Damen waiting for him at his locker or driving through the gate to his house would cause his chest to fizzle like a bottle of sparkling water, shaken until the point of explosion. 

It was just sex at first. It was just sex, because there was nothing else between them and there never would be. And that was fine.

Except, it wasn’t just sex. Laurent didn’t know what it was, or how it had managed to creep up on them without being noticed or felt, but it was becoming more unignorable with each day spent in each other’s presence. 

Laurent wasn’t an overly prideful person. He found that he was usually right, but that didn’t stop him from being able to admit when he wasn’t. He could see his miscalculation here, and the fact of how skewed his initial perception of Damen was seemed to be about as difficult as the idea of how little time they had left. The semester was coming to a close, and with that, their allotted time as partners.

Neither of them were stupid, not individually nor together. One of Laurent’s biggest surprises were how well they seemed to work together, and he was in complete awareness that they probably could have been done long ago, had they wanted.

It was for the physical aspect, of course. Aside for the few rushed, impulsive times at school, the night after Guymar’s party was the only time they had done anything without the pretense of working on the project. That wasn’t something that was going to change, and so Laurent was going to take advantage of things while he could, and everything else would just become another part of the past. 

 

He was having fun. That was what Laurent reminded himself two days later as he laid on his bed, spinning his phone around in his hands as he waited.

The photo didn’t show any part of his face, capturing only as much as the span of his collarbone to the bottom of his chin. The angle of it showed the way his head was tilted to the side, the single strand of fallen hair doing nothing to conceal the large, red mark blemishing the side of his neck, bits of purple blurred within it.

It was far from the first time he’d noticed one of the marks. It was something Laurent was growing used to seeing each time he undressed, rarely in the same place. That evening he laid on top of the covers, tilting his head this way and that as he looked into the front camera of his phone, grazing his fingers along the newest one. 

It had been this rash, newly impetuous side that had him clicking the button, snapping a picture and sending it through a text, sans context. He didn’t even know why he’d done it, but each passing minute seemed to be growing longer as he drummed his fingers on his stomach. He’d been home from school for a while, he knew there was plenty he could be doing, either productively or just for simple enjoyment. 

So, here he was.

Laurent wasn’t too certain as to what exactly he was expecting, or if he was expecting anything at all. He had a good feeling of what kind of reaction something like that could derive from Damen, but he wasn’t that sure about how it would be translated. When his phone vibrated against his stomach, he felt the trepidation begin to surface in currents. He lifted the screen to his face, lips pressed together.

Just like his own message, Laurent received an image in return rather a worded text. It took Laurent a few seconds to register what he was seeing, his thumb hovering over the screen as he looked, calling on all his self-control so he could remind himself to breathe.

The positioning of the photo was low, much lower than the angling of Laurent’s. Damen was in his room, Laurent could tell from the dark red sheets, bunching slightly below his hips. He wasn’t sure if he was lying there shirtless or if he had simply rolled the fabric up, enough so that Laurent could see the smooth ripples of his abdomen, bronzed in the hazy lighting of his bedroom. His jeans were pushed down low, enough so that Laurent could see the expanse of his toned, muscled thighs, spread apart just slightly on the mattress. His hand, large and familiarly strong, wrapped tight around the base of his cock.

The light eventually dimmed, leaving Laurent with nothing but a black screen and the image of Damen touching himself engrained in his mind. Laurent’s cheeks felt warm, his eyes unintentionally closing as he swallowed passed what felt like thudding in his throat, his stomach tight with something he’d never felt before.

He unlocked his phone, and the image was no less crude than he remembered, no less enticing. With embarrassingly shaky fingers that he was glad no one else could see, he texted back: _6.5/10._

It was around a minute before he responded, considerably less time than the last text but still enough to make Laurent’s heard pound even harder. He opened the message and saw in a single bubble: _???_

Laurent bit down on his lip, but that did nothing to stop the stupidly fond smile he could feel spreading across his face, even his fingertips feeling warm with foolish pleasure. Before he had a chance to text back, another message popped up right below the first: _I’m coming over._

 

Laurent checked his phone for the time; seeing that there were about twenty minutes left before the bell rang, bringing their lunch hour to an end. He pressed the lock button and pushed it aside, turning his attention back to Isander. 

“Well?” Laurent said, setting his hands down in front of him. “How are you doing?”

He nodded without looking up, tapping his pencil along the bottom of the paper. “I think I got it,” he said. “But I’m not so sure about this last one.”

It took him a few seconds to lift his eyes to Laurent’s, only to look away in a bit of a flurry. Laurent tried not to smile, not wanting to make him even more unnerved. “Can I see?” he asked.

Isander slid the papers over, brining his eraser to his mouth after. Laurent picked up his own pen, clicking the cap as he began to scan all the different equations scrawled messily around the lines. He could feel Isander watching over his shoulder, could feel his knee shaking beside his own.

“I see why you thought that,” Laurent said a few minutes later, marking a spot on equation number nine. “It’s a common mistake. Here.” He slid the paper back over to him, shifting in closer so they could look together. “Let me show you how to not make the same mistake again.”

After a new method of explanation, Laurent pulled out a fresh page and jotted down a new equation, a little tougher this time because he knew Isander could handle it. He turned it to face him, gesturing towards the numbers.

Laurent had a cheek on his fist, watching as Isander nibbled at his lip and frowned, flipping the pencil over to erase his work and start again, dusting away the eraser shavings with the side of his hand. He checked the time again as discreetly as possible, just as a shadow fell over them. Isander didn’t look away from his work, so it was only Laurent who looked up into Damen’s eyes.

Laurent glanced at Isander, seeing that he was too immersed to be distracted, which was good. He looked back at Damen, lifting his eyebrows a little when he remained silent, just looking between the two of them. “What?”

“Huh?” Isander said, lifting his head quickly. He noticed Damen then, still not speaking, the pencil slipping from his fingers. “Oh. Hi!” he said, before promptly blushing.

Damen smiled at him when he noticed, too warm to be mocking, and Laurent felt a similar sensation push at his chest. He reached for the notebook Isander was still working with, beginning to write down the first few numbers that came to his mind. 

“Hi, Isander,” he said. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Isander shook his head, only to look at Laurent. “I- no?”

Laurent smiled at him as well. “No. You’re doing great.” 

He could tell that Isander was about to reply, but Damen dropped his bag down on the table. “Are we meeting tonight, Laurent?”

Laurent looked up at him wordlessly. They’d confirmed just that morning over text that they were.

Isander saved him from dignifying it with a response, checking his phone before he mattered something, beginning to gather his things quickly. When Damen saw how frazzled he seemed he shifted on his feet, looking a little chagrined. “I didn’t mean to disturb,” he said, which Laurent highly doubted, but appreciated nonetheless for Islander’s sake.

“Oh, no,” Isander said, lifting his bag and pulling his arms through both thick straps. “I’m late to meet Erasmus. Besides,” he swung his legs out from behind the bench, standing. “I should leave you two alone.”

Something about that seemed to please Damen, yet Laurent himself wasn’t all too pleased by how the sight of his stupid, dopey grin made him feel. He twisted his body so he could look at Isander, just as he heard Damen take his own seat across from him. “Let me know next time you need help, all right?”

“Thank you,” he said, looking far too gratified for just receiving help with homework. “Thank you so much.”

When he was gone, Laurent waited it out a few seconds before swiveling around to face Damen, letting out a long sigh. ”That was pathetic.”

“I didn’t know you were friends,” Damen said.

Laurent leaned forward a little. “Do I need permission?”

Damen frowned. “No,” he said, slowly. “I just, you look-“ he reached for Laurent’s water bottle and spun the cap around with his thumb. “You’re not friends?”

“I never said that,” Laurent replied.

He saw a soft, little V shape crease between his eyebrows. “Are you close?”

Laurent didn’t know why he was trying not to smile. He took the bottle out of Damen’s hands, taking a long sip. “Why?”

“You seem,” Damen shrugged. “Cozy.” 

Laurent looked after where Isander had walked, not yet far enough that he was out of sight. He thought of the determined look on Damen’s face when he had showed up in his room the previous night, letting his smile appear naturally with the memory as he made sure to not look away. “He has nice eyes.”

He heard the bottle get uncapped again. “They’re just brown eyes,” Damen muttered.

Laurent turned his head enough to meet his eye. He was still smiling.

 

Laurent was sitting in sixth hour the following day, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk as Audin prattled on when he heard his phone vibrating in his bag. It seemed loud to him in the otherwise silent room, but when he flicked his eyes up to the front of the class he saw that Audin was busy writing something on the board, seemingly undisturbed by the sound.

He reached down before he could turn and slipped his hand into the outer pocket of the bag, curling his fingers around his phone. As he pulled it out, it vibrated again with a second text.

_Problem.  
I have a game tonight, can’t do the usual time._

Laurent looked up again, keeping his phone hidden below his desk as he typed back a response.

_We’ll just meet tomorrow then._

_Nah_ Damen texted back, only a few seconds passing. _There are too many things I want to get to already._

Laurent brought an elbow to the desk, setting his pencil down so he could use both hands to type easier.

_Such as?_

Audin called on the student sitting next to him, and it was clear from the guy’s unsure response that he had been called on to prove a point. Laurent adjusted his body, hiding the phone a little better between his legs.

 _Not sure where I want to start._ Damen wrote. _I keep changing my mind._

His phone vibrated again, and it was only when nothing new showed up beneath it that Laurent realized it wasn’t Damen that had texted him again. He tapped on the arrow at the top left of the screen, going back to his list of messages to see Vannes’ name at the top, a blue dot by her contact.

He glanced to the left, towards the window where she was sitting. She nodded her head towards his lap.

_Who are you texting?_

He looked at her again. She quirked a brow.

_Why?_

_You keep smiling._

Laurent swiped out of the texts, picking his pencil back up and returning his attention to Audin. He copied down everything that he had written on the board that he had missed, only picking his phone back up when his page was mostly full. He went back to Damen’s contact. _So what time?_

 _Be at my house at 8 instead_ He wrote. _My maid will let you in._

It was so like Damen to not be bothered by the idea of someone alone in his own room, the possibility of snooping around an easy option. He could point that out, but he knew Damen wouldn’t care either way. He texted back a confirmation before putting his phone away, properly getting his head back into the lesson.

 

Laurent had seen Damen’s family’s maid once or twice before, though she didn’t seem to be one for conversation. She tended to smile politely and keep her head down, not much different from that evening when she let Laurent in.

“Damianos said you should feel free to wait in his rom, if you like,” she said, when Laurent inquired about him. He nodded, thanking her before he turned and made for the steps on his own.

Laurent set his bag down near the entrance of Damen’s room, looking around. He had been in here what felt like countless times, though it was never without Damen. It felt strange being in there alone, to just show up to his house and waltz into his room without a problem. It felt like something people in relationships would do, an act that a boyfriend would feel comfortable with.

He took a seat in his usual spot, looking around again. He felt unable to ignore all the different spots in the room, all the different surfaces he and Damen had utilized. The bed, the couch, the wall by his window, even that one time on the carpet. They’d yet to venture outside of his bedroom and into other parts of his house. 

Laurent felt his cheeks warm as his mind began to get away from him, and it was a sharp tug of reality that pulled him out of it. He needed to stop with this nonsense. Entertaining these thoughts would get him nowhere. 

He reached for his bag and riffled through the contents, pulling out his English notebook. Daydreaming would serve no purpose, but working until Damen arrived would.

Laurent was standing at the desk, rummaging through the drawer to find a highlighter when Damen finally arrived. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts, so close to properly nailing a parallel that he had been trying to reach that he didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall that were normally loud, not even noticing that someone was in the room until the door closed.

“Hey,” Damen said, the sound of his voice causing Laurent’s head to lift. He heard a dull _thud_ against the ground as Damen set his own things down. “Sorry I’m late, I got hung up.”

“It’s fine,” Laurent said, looking at the time on his wrist. It was almost nine, but Laurent had hardly felt the time pass.

“Did you get much done?” Damen asked.

“Yes,” Laurent said, turning around to face him.

Damen was perched on the arm of the couch, hunched forward a little. He was watching Laurent, spinning a football between his palms.

“How much?” Damen asked. 

He hadn’t changed into his own clothing, the way he usually did when they met after he got out of practice. His jersey was stretched tight against his shoulders, the large, white 25 stark against the shiny blue material. His thighs were a little spread, the fabric tight. The white was smudged with grass and dirt stains. 

“What?” Laurent said.

“The assignment.” Damen pointed to the table with the ball, motioning to Laurent after. “You said you got work done.”

His helmet was discarded by the door, but his hair was still a complete mess from it, sweat dampened curls in disarray around his face. There was still the faintest smudge of black below his eyes.

Laurent heard the drawer close behind him slowly. He leaned his weight back on the edge.

“Right,” he said. “Yes.”

Damen looked at him oddly, standing up after a few seconds. “I need to shower,” he said, tossing his ball onto the bed. “We can start after.”

Laurent watched as he walked around the room, rifling through his closet before pulling out boxers and sweatpants, no shirt in sight. He pursed his lips, his eyes following the way Damen’s spine curved as he closed the bottom drawer. 

“How was the game?” Laurent asked. It seemed like the right thing to say.

Damen glanced at him over his shoulder. “Good.” 

He shut the closet door, making his way for the bathroom which was a few feet away from his work desk.

“Did you win?”

Damen stopped next to him, smiling a little like he asked if the sun would come up the next morning. “Of course we did.”

Laurent nodded. He eyed the clothing in Damen’s hand, and the way his jersey strained against his chest like it was custom made to fit him, which it probably was. He lifted his eyes.

Laurent had one hand around Damen’s neck, his other pushed into his hair as he brought his mouth down to his. It had become somewhat of an immediate reaction for him whenever he kissed Damen, just like the way Damen’s hands moved to his waist. He heard the bundle of Damen’s clothes drop to the floor.

He felt Damen’s chest push against his, the backs of his legs pressed against the desk as Damen’s thumbs dug into his hips. His own hand slid down to grab as his neck, his lips parting at the feel of Damen’s tongue.

“I really do need to shower,” Damen murmured, his palm gliding up the back of his thigh. Laurent parted his lips to reply, not managing to get much out before Damen was kissing him again, deeper.

It was with a valiant amount of effort that Laurent brought his hands to Damen’s chest, pushing him away. He pulled his eyes up from his reddened lips, resisting the urge to lick his own when he met Damen’s eyes. “Go on.”

Damen stayed as he was, his eyes creating a slow, unabashed line down his body before he took a step back, then another. Laurent swallowed, trying not to glance at the clothing Damen had left by his feet. He looked at the work on the table, pushing a few strands of hair out of his face.

“Well?” Damen said.

Laurent looked at him, seeing the way Damen was standing half in the entrance to the bathroom, a hand on the doorframe. He drummed his fingers, tilting his head.

Laurent looked at the papers scattered around again, shifting on his feet. He hesitated for a moment, a beat passing before he thought, _fuck it._

He walked into the bathroom after Damen, pushing the door closed behind him.

 

“Stop looing at him,” Auguste said, reaching over and swiping the lemon wedge off of Laurent’s glass.

Laurent had never noticed how tall Kashel was. She still wasn’t up to Damen’s height, but her heels brought her close. 

He lifted his drink to his mouth. “At who?”

“You know exactly who,” Auguste said. He was turned enough in his seat so he could face Laurent, while still being able to follow Laurent’s line of vision. Laurent briefly considered asking if he also though Kashel’s tanned legs looked acceptingly long that night, or if he was just imagining things. 

“It’s a fund raiser,” Auguste said, signaling for another drink. “A social event. He’s just socializing.”

“Okay,” Laurent said.

“I’ve spoken with him a few times, he’s too polite to ignore someone.”

She may have not been Laurent’s type, but he had eyes. No one with half a mind would ignore Kashel. “Okay.”

He heard Auguste sigh, but when Laurent glanced over at him, he was smiling at him in a way that may as well have been silent laughter. Laurent could try and argue the look he was giving him, but the attempt would be transparently pointless. They both knew it.

He sighed himself, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. He didn’t know what to call this heavy, unwelcome sensation he was feeling every time he glanced over to where they were both talking, but tequila didn’t seem to be the solution.

“Auguste,” he began to mumble, but whatever futile instinct of looking to his brother for help he was going for was interrupted by the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Look at my boys!” 

Laurent set his drink down, turning away from him to see Hennike crossing the ballroom to them, lifting the end of her dress in her hands so the skirt didn’t drag along the marble floor. Her gown was a deep, satin black, the material around her neck coiled in a thin golden chain.

“Hi mom,” Auguste said, accepting her hands and kissing her on the cheek. 

Laurent did the same, and then the stepped in between them, touching them both on the cheek.

“You look lovely,” Laurent told her. His mother was beautiful.

“No more than either of you,” she said, straightening Auguste’s tie and tucking a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear. “I’m sure everyone is fawning over you both.”

“Is dad coming?” Laurent asked.

“He couldn’t make it,” Hennike said, her bracelets rattling as she set her hand down on the bar. “Business. But he said that we should submit our estate in Acquitart for the auction.” 

“Good,” Auguste said, nodding. “He wanted to go with the house in Arles, but I told him people would prefer the seclusion.” He stepped down from the barstool, taking his phone and sliding it in his pocket. “I’ll let them know.”

After he’d gone, Hennike turned to face Laurent. “Are you enjoying?”

He had nothing negative to say about the event, as far as technicalities went. “I am. And you?”

She began to reply, but Laurent saw as something in her peripheral vision caught her eye and stilled her features, and he turned to look just in time to see Damen take the final steps to the bar.

Laurent fleetingly entertained the idea that his location was merely a coincidence and that he was just getting a drink, but the hope was immediately squashed when Damen came face to face with his mother.

“Hi,” he said.

Hennike looked at Laurent as if for some explanation, but Laurent just looked forward, flatly. 

“Hello,” she said, setting Auguste’s abandoned drink that she’d claimed as her own down. Laurent saw the minute way her eyes wavered, the look she had that meant she was sizing someone up in her own polite way, but still wasn’t entirely trying to hide it. “You’re Egeria’s son?”

“I am,” he said, extending a hand. “Damianos.”

She took his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Damen said, smiling. Unlike every other dressy event Laurent had seen him at, he was wearing a bow tie. “I’ve spent so much time at your home with Laurent, it wouldn’t feel right to not introduce myself.”

Hennike looked at Laurent again, still holding Damen’s hand. Laurent looked at the way her red nails covered his fingers, breathing in through his nose as he willed himself to not look at his stupid dimple.

“That’s very sweet of you, Damianos,” she said. “How is your assignment going? Laurent hasn’t said much.”

“Well,” Damen said. “Laurent is incredibly insightful.”

Hennike was grinning, and the last thing Laurent needed was for her to remind Laurent how handsome he was, or do something rash and unnecessary like make good on her word and invite him over for a meal. He placed a hand on her arm, smiling the way he knew always got him his way with her. 

“They’re beginning soon, mom,” he said. “You should find your seat.”

“Right, yes.” Turning to Damen she said, “It was lovely to properly meet you, Damianos. I hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so, too,” he said, lifting a hand as she began to step away, her clutch in both hands.

When she was finally out of earshot Laurent turned to him quickly. “What was that?”

“What?” Damen said.

“Why would you introduce yourself?”

“Parents love me,” Damen shrugged. “And I wanted her to know me.”

There was music playing from the gala, Laurent could hear it streaming through the walls and down the twisting hallways. 

“There’s no reason for you to meet my mom,” he said, grateful the words didn’t come out as small as they felt in his head.

Damen stared at him wordlessly, eventually looking at something over the bar. Laurent looked around himself, wondering why this suddenly felt so awkward as he scrambled for something to fill the odd silence. 

“Kashel looked nice,” he said.

“Kashel?” Damen said, looking over his shoulder like she was still there. “I guess.”

“You don’t think so?” Laurent asked.

“She looked the same as she always does.”

Laurent made a humming sound in the back of his throat, but it sounded more like an attempt to clear his throat. He reached for his glass, only to realize that it was empty.

A few seconds of silence passed before Damen said, slowly, “Why do you ask?”

The bartender was busy with someone else. It was supremely inconvenient, because Laurent was in an increasing need of somewhere to look. “Just making conversation.”

Damen was watching him. He had both arms leaned on the flat surface of the bar, his arms crossed, and the prickle of heat Laurent could feel at the back of his neck from the way he was being looked at was enough to make him want to turn away, yet he was helpless.

Damen signaled the bartender over. It took nothing more than a flick of his fingers, the briefest glance to him as he placed his order, and then he was facing Laurent again.

“I want to kiss you,” Damen said.

Laurent felt his stomach ripple like a pulse-line, looking around the room still mostly filled with parents, students they went to school with. “We-“

“I know,” Damen said, accepting his drink before pushing away form the bar. “I just wanted you to know.”

 

The night turned out to be a success. The students and parents at Artes Academy attended these sorts of events to raise money for a variety of different charities at least twice a year, and that night had surpassed their most recent record. Their property at Acquitart had gone to a man named Arnoul for far more than they had anticipated, and the entire accomplishment of the evening gave Laurent the same warm, hopeful feeling that they always did.

Being the main event, the auction itself ended around eight o’clock, followed by a dinner in the main ballroom. By the time that was over most of the adults had either left or were wandering around the hotel grounds in different pairings, the students occupying the less public rooms Mellos had to offer. 

It was half past eleven when Laurent was standing in a secluded alcove by the bathrooms, he and Jord trying to figure out if Lazar was too far gone to properly deduce if he was in fact going to be sick or not when his phone vibrated with a text.

“Hold on,” Laurent said, taking a few steps away and pulling it out. He swiped the screen, a part of him already knowing who to expect.

Damen wrote: _are you going home tonght_

Laurent looked up at the two of them, seeing that Jord had both hands on Lazar’s shoulders and was speaking to him slowly. Before Laurent could text back he wrote again, _im in 304_

Laurent hesitated, his teeth moving along his lip before he sent, _You’re staying here?_

 _im in 304_ And then again, _come i wanna see you_

The screen dimmed after about a minute of just looking at it, eventually going black as it locked on its own. It was technically a suggestion, what should be considered a choice, but Laurent knew a choice would indicate a second option being considered.

He stepped up to them. “Are you going to be okay with him?”

“Why?” Jord asked, despite Lazar’s thumbs up. “You okay?”

“Auguste needs me,” Laurent said. “Can you manage?”

“We’re good,” Jord said, clasping Lazar’s shoulder. “Right?”

“Right.” He nodded emphatically. “Go have fun.”

“I’m just going to see what Auguste needs,” Laurent said.

Lazar smiled at him, the same slow and lopsided one he had when he mixed too many drinks. “Okay,” he said. “You enjoy that.”

When Laurent didn’t step away, Jord waved a hand towards the hall. “He’s wrecked,” he said. “Ignore him. Say hi for me.”

Laurent took the elevator, not wanting to waste the time that looking for a stairwell would take up. He watched the blue numbers tick by as he slowly made his way up to the third floor, checking the time again on his phone before the doors slid open, the carpeted halls seemingly empty.

The doors were white, a plaque of gold lettering on each one telling him the room number. The elevator had let him off by room _300_ , and it was only a few steps with his hands in his pockets before he was standing at _304._

There was nothing for Laurent to do after he knocked but wait, nothing available to distract him from where he was, how little time it took him to decide to be there. He didn’t know when exactly hesitation had become blatant carelessness, but as the door opened, the blurred line didn’t seem to matter anymore. 

Laurent’s suspicions from Damen’s texts were confirmed the second he saw him. His eyes were out of focus, any product he had initially put in his hair not pointless. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, his bow tie unfastened so that it fell open around his neck. He was smiling largely, significantly more than the uninhibited way he had been looking at Laurent lately.

“How drunk are you?” Laurent asked, pushing the door closed.

It seemed to make Damen even happier. He stepped up to Laurent, not yet touching him. “You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Laurent said, before he could even think the words through. They didn’t seem to register through Damen’s alcohol addled brain, but Laurent’s cheeks still felt hot. “Well?”

“I’m fine,” Damen said. His step faltered a little as he came forward again, though he otherwise _did_ appear fine, if not a little heightened in his expressiveness. “I just really want to kiss you.”

Laurent was standing with his back to the door. He could see the bed from where they were, still made, and he could see the way Damen was looking at him. He thought of the way he had been looking at him the whole night.

“Okay,” Laurent said.

And then he was pressed against Damen, feeling the way his weight was pushed forward a little more than it usually would be, not quite in the state of mind to restrain himself or think of their physical differences.

Laurent didn’t mind it. He had felt a sort of visceral, consuming surge of possessiveness since the second he’d lifted his eyes and saw Damen standing with Kashel, and he wasn’t going to shy away form leaving his own mark on Damen now. His arms were wound around Damen’s neck, pulling him in further as Damen’s chest pushed him into the door, his hands on Laurent’s cheeks. He kissed a bit harder than usual, if not a little more unrestrained, and Laurent could only revel in the way it felt to be in his arms, to feel the way he wanted him with every different touch.

“I’ve wanted to do that the whole night,” Damen murmured. His hands had moved to Laurent’s sides, hips lips creating a line up his neck.

Laurent had a hand in his hair, pulling his head up to his. “I know,” he said, kissing him again.

The length to the bed was short, but their attempt to get to it was still graceless. Damen was too intoxicated to do anything but stumble, and Laurent was too focused on the way Damen’s hands felt roaming his back to be anything but. He fell on his back, taking the brunt of Damen’s weight again when he dropped onto him clumsily.

Laurent had a leg around Damen’s hips, his fingers feeling the was his shoulders flexed above him, yet he couldn’t repress the way he winced when Damen’s hand fell to the pillow by his head, tugging at his hair sharply.

“Sorry,” Damen said, looking so concerned with wide, unblinking eyes that Laurent couldn’t help but smile, touching his cheek.

”It’s fine,” he said, pulling his face down again.

But then his knee was digging into Laurent’s thigh, the phone that was still in his pocket pressing against his stomach in a way that was only serving to distract him.

“Wait,” Laurent said, hearing how breathless he already was. He could feel the way he was already getting affected, but it wasn’t going to work like this “Just-“

“What?” Damen said, lifting his head up from where he had been kissing below his ear. His eyes had a very obvious glaze to him, seemingly unable to remain on one part of Laurent’s face, a large curl in his eye. 

He looked like a mess. Laurent pressed his lips together, but the bit of laughter that leaked out was beyond his control.

“What?” Damen frowned, shifting his body again mindlessly like he forgot that there was another person beneath his bulk. “What’s funny?”

Laurent felt another bout of laughter coming, so he shook his head and pushed at his shoulder, prompting Damen to nod vigorously and roll off of him, dropping onto his back like a sack of potatoes. “Like this?”

Laurent pushed himself up, throwing a leg over Damen so he was straddling his hips, his hands at his sides. He kissed the side of his mouth. “Yes.”

Damen smiled up at him, practically beaming, and Laurent couldn’t help but do the same as he dipped his head and pressed their mouths together.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long they stayed like that, Damen’s hands unable to remain in one place so that his palms traced his back, his shoulders, the curves of his ass. Damen was normally an unrepressed person, but there was something endearing about the way everything about him seemed to be enhanced now, like all that he felt had been bubbling beneath the surface and he could do nothing to hold the feeling back now.

Sometime throughout it, Laurent became fully hard. He felt it in the press against Damen’s body, in the sparks of pleasure he felt pulse through him with every subtle, uncontrolled shift forward. His hand moved between them as the feeling increased, only to pause. He looked up.

It seemed to take a little longer for the realization to dawn on Damen. When it did, he brought a hand to cover Laurent’s, only to lift it to his own eyes. Laurent touched his neck, feeling how flushed he was.

“I,“ he said, muffled from his hand. “I can-“

“It’s okay,” Laurent said. He smoothed a hand down Damen’s side, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Really,” Damen said, and for the first time Laurent could really hear the slur he had to his voice, the notion seeming to slip past him earlier, having been too distracted to notice. “Just let me-“

“Damen,” Laurent said, grabbing his wrist. Even if Damen was able, he was too drunk for anything more to feel right, despite his eagerness. “It’s fine.” He rolled off of Damen’s body and onto his side, and that seemed to be what snapped Damen out of it, dropping his hand and shaking his head.

“No,” he said, looking at him with big eyes. “No, no.”

Laurent tried not to grin. “What do you suggest, then?” he asked, more to see what Damen came up with in his inebriated state.

But Damen was committed, if nothing else. He gave a little frown of concentration, eventually pushing up onto an elbow, and Laurent decided to ignore the way it slipped on the sheets. He watched as Damen reached for Laurent’s zipper with what could only be described as avid determination, only to knock his fingers against his belt buckle. Laurent couldn’t quite quell the twitch of his lips from the disgruntled sound Damen made.

“Oh my God.” Damen dropped his head by Laurent’s shoulder. 

Laurent wasn’t laughing at Damen, he really wasn’t. He knew he was a little embarrassed, though he didn’t see any reason to be. It was just so unexpectedly charming too see how peeved he was, the boyish look of frustration on his face making Laurent’s chest feel too tight.

He tugged at Damen’s upper arm, causing him to roll over as best as he could so he was on his side as well, him and Laurent facing each other. Laurent could still feel the way his body had responded to their kissing, but his arousal took up not even half of his attention as he ran a hand through Damen’s hair, smoothing it off his forehead. His brown eyes were so large as he gazed back at Laurent, and he looked so young like that. Nothing like the confident, physically imposing guy he had known all those years.

“This is severely out of character for me,” Damen said, in a very serious tone.

And then Laurent was laughing. Properly, helplessly laughing, unable to repress it if he wanted to. Damen blinked a few times, heavily, like it was taking effort to do so. For a moment Laurent thought he was offended, but then his drawn eyes were bright, and the two of them could do nothing but laugh at each other. 

 

The first thing Laurent was aware of when his eyes came open was the darkness. Thick, cloaking black that blanketed him from all sides, causing him to blink rapidly in hopes of his eyes adjusting. The second thing he noticed was that he wasn’t alone.

He was on his back, his head turned to the side so his cheek was pressing into a pile of pillows that were soft, cool on his skin. Awareness came in increments; ticking off in his head as realization began to settle. He was still dressed, his tie still in a knot around his neck, though his jacket had at some point been discarded. He was on top of the covers, in a bed that was not his own. It was the middle of the night. He was still at the hotel. Damen was in his arms.

His face was wedged in between Laurent’s shoulder and chin, soft breaths of air puffing out against his neck where his lips were grazing. He was as nestled into his body as he could be, turned on his side with an arm thrown over his middle. More than that, Laurent had a leg wedged in between both of Damen’s.

Laurent swallowed as silently as he could, trying to think of a way he could check the time without moving too much. He didn’t want to wake him, mainly because he wasn’t sure what he would say if they were both awake at the same time, like this.

Laurent thought back as hard as he could, but he couldn’t seem to remember how they had fallen asleep this way. They had never- This wasn’t something they-

He closed his eyes, breathing in through his mouth as a way to alleviate the pressure he could feel slowly creep it. Damen’s body was heavy against his, warm. The soft ends of his hair were tickling Laurent’s cheek with every gentle, rhythmic movement of his body.

Laurent hadn’t had that much to drink. Certainly not enough to forget the night, and whatever he _had_ had was out of his system long before he went to him. All he could chalk it up to was exhaustion, because the last thing he could remember was the two of them laying on their sides, awake, facing each other. And then, this.

He began to shift his body around, trying to implement some form of personal space before he did something stupid, something he would regret in the daylight without the cover of night, the illicit courage that darkness offered. His leg slid, his head arching back, but that was as far as he managed before the hold on his side turned into a grip, Damen’s arm tightening around him as they were brought together even closer.

“Where are you going,” Damen mumbled into his shirt, his face moving into his chest. Or that was what Laurent thought he said. It was hard to tell from the angling of his head and the way Laurent’s pulse was pounding in his ear like footsteps outside their door.

Laurent’s eyes closed again. He focused on regulating his heartbeat, the task nearly impossible when he could literally feel Damen’s against his.

“Nowhere,” Laurent whispered, knowing it was futile. Damen was asleep.

 

It hadn’t taken long for Laurent to realize that something was wrong.

Laurent had gotten to know Damen throughout all of their interactions, in ways he had never expected to. The amount of time they had spent together, the parts of themselves they had unwittingly exposed had ensured that. They were both people that hid behind their own kind of barriers, and neither of them had fought hard when those barriers had begun to crumble.

But the truth was, those things didn’t even matter now. Even before Laurent had gotten glimpses of the more private parts of Damen, it was common knowledge that he was an open, boisterous person. He had an easygoing nature about him, one that made other people feel like they were special just being in his company, like they were worthy of the spotlight that his gaze made them feel like they were under. Laurent remembered how much that had bothered him, once.

But now, it was different. It had only taken Laurent less than a minute in Damen’s presence to see that something had happened.

It wasn’t like Laurent had expected a greeting kiss when he walked into Damen’s room that night, books in hand, but something more than a cursory glance would have sufficed. At Laurent’s hello, he had received a nod. At his considering stare, nothing.

Damen wasn’t someone who showed his emotions, at least not his dour ones. Laurent knew this. He had seen Damen’s anger, his sentiment, but never his sadness. Laurent knew that everyone had their struggles, but you would never know it from the way Damen carried himself, the hopeful positivity he seemed to radiate. Perhaps he suppressed it, perhaps he was so out of touch with that part of himself that he managed not to be impacted by it. But he was as human as anyone else. Something had happened to Damen, and that was suddenly the only thing that mattered to Laurent.

He was masking it well, to his credit. He was sitting on the couch, slightly hunched over. A muscle worked in his jaw, and his fingers were tapping against his knee. Technically, it was a relatively common stance that anyone could take, but Damen wasn’t anyone. He was hurt.

Laurent was sitting beside him, having followed Damen’s cue of taking out his things and putting his attention there. He didn’t know if Damen was really reading, but Laurent certainly wasn’t. His eyes kept scanning the same line of notes, his pen rolling between his fingers as he tried to figure out how to approach the situation. Ignoring the tension their silence created was unreasonable, and disregarding Damen’s pain was unthinkable.

“Did you get the sources we needed during your free block?” Laurent asked, flipping to another page after not absorbing anything.

“Yes,” Damen said.

Laurent didn’t look up. “She approved them?”

The plastic water bottle crackled in his hand. He drained what was left, wiping the liquid off his lips with the back of his hand. “Yes.”

Laurent nodded, feeling a little out of sorts from how useless he seemed to be, a situation that he always ensured he would not find himself in. He flicked his eyes to the left, seeing the straight line Damen’s shoulders made from how he was bent down over the table, the blank look on his face confirming the question of whether he was actually retaining any of his work.

Laurent set his notebook down, dropping the pen on top of it. He had never been one to offer comfort, not really. He may have with Auguste, with his friends, but they knew Laurent well enough to understand his way of acting, by this point knowing enough to see how he worked. To see Damen stew in his thoughts and not know how to approach them was jarring.

He would take the direct approach. That wasn’t his usual mode, but there was no point in being crafty now. He was honest enough to know that everything that had ever transpired between him and Damen had been layered, more complex than they made it seem, but Damen’s aching didn’t deserve duplicity.

He drank from his own water, placing it beside him before turning. “Damen.”

He lifted his head immediately, just looking at Laurent like he was nothing more than furniture before acknowledgment settled. “What?”

Without looking away, Laurent said, “what is it?”

He was silent, wordless like he was waiting for a continuation before saying, “what do you mean?”

“Something happened,” Laurent said, wondering if the words sounded as awkward as they felt. He cleared his throat silently, swallowing down his nerves. “I can tell.”

“No,” Damen said. And then again, “no.”

It was an effort to keep his gaze steady, knowing it was on him to carry them through this. He shifted his legs, wondering if Damen would sense his unsteadiness and allow some of his own to break through.

“Damen,” he said, forcing his voice to come out gentle. His hands were on his lap. “You can- talk. You can tell me.”

He had suspected that Damen was someone that never spoke about his problems, and he could see how much he was struggling with the notion now. He wondered if that was all it was, or if part of the pinched look on his face was due to the fact that Laurent was trying to be open with him. He wondered if it felt as vulnerable for Damen as it did for him.

Damen lifted his eyes again, and it was different that rime. He was seeing Laurent, not just looking at him. It was like he just noticed that Laurent was there, in his room, sitting with him.

“Why?” he said, and something about that lodged in Laurent’s ribcage like a quivering arrow.

 _Because you’re in pain,_ Laurent wanted to say, and knew that he never would. _Because I miss your smile._

He knew he could blame it on the project. They needed to work, and Damen moping in his silent, guarded way was taking up their time.

But that wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t allow it to be.

“Why not?” he said instead.

Damen looked at him for a few seconds, body still slumped and facial lines hard, and Laurent matched his stare in a way that showed that he would not waver until Damen spoke.

It was Damen who looked away first, his face turned to the bathroom door, then the closet, then down. His curls ruffled as his fingers pushed through them, his jaw a smooth, clamped line.

“It’s nothing-“ he said, pausing. “Nothing important.”

Laurent tried to ignore how odd this was, how unlike the two of them it was to sit around and discuss their feelings. Maybe if he could remove their history from the situation, words would flow better.

“If it’s upsetting you,” Laurent tried. “It’s important.”

“I’m not upset,” he said at once, a second after Laurent closed his mouth.

“Damen,” he said, and the soft way his name came out was almost too much for Laurent to bear. 

Damen’s eyes were on his. The brown seemed so light, the edges softening as his shoulders lowered, his hand moving to his own knee.

“My brother.” 

“Okay,” Laurent said, quick enough that he didn’t come off as indifferent, though it took a few seconds for an image to place in his mind. He couldn’t recall a name, but he had seen him on the school wall, the graduates picture from Auguste’s year at Artes. “Is he okay?”

Damen dropped his head again, falling down like a chain unlocked. Laurent couldn’t see his expression when he said, “Kastor is just fine.”

“Okay,” Laurent said, adding nothing more. Damen would speak when he was ready.

A long breath came after a minute; Damen’s exhale the only sign that he was going to continue. His eyes didn’t stray from the spot between his shoes.

“I don’t know how long it was,” he said. “Or why, even. I don’t understand.”

Laurent considered asking for clarification, but ultimately decided that his best bet was to respond like that made sense. “All right.”

“I don’t even care about-“ he rubbed a hand along his chin “Her. I haven’t in so long, so I don’t even see why it matters anymore.”

“Pain doesn’t always require an excuse,” Laurent said, watching Damen’s face for any different twitch, any flicker in his eyes.

“Maybe I did something,” Damen told the coffee table. “Maybe I made him mad. I never-“ His hand moved up his face, squeezing at his skin as he shook his head.

Laurent came to the understanding that vague, half sentences were all that he was going to get. It wasn’t enough, but he would make it enough. Damen had mentioned his brother, Kastor. He was obviously the cause of Damen’s pain, though the facts were still ambiguous enough that Laurent needed to think differently. A girl was involved, someone who was no longer important, but seemed to be at some distant time, to some degree. Damen thought he did something to anger Kastor, something that-

Laurent’s thoughts stopped, the stillness in the room suddenly thick enough that his throat felt stuffed with it, like trying to swallow a pill without water. He felt his own jaw working, his tongue moving along his teeth as he began to see Damen’s despondency in a different way.

Laurent looked to the side, wanting whatever look that was on his face to just be his. He could be wrong, of course. It was just a guess, a leap of logic that might be far. It was deplorable, and they were brothers. Laurent could never imagine his own brother doing something like that to him.

But there was no other sibling in the world like Auguste.

And despite growing up in a world of money and privilege and catty, empty socialites, Damen still managed to see only honesty and goodness in people.

And because he was sitting there with Laurent, desolate, looking like a little boy that has just found out that the world wasn’t actually made of magic.

Laurent was entirely removed from the situation, a non-factor, yet he still felt a curl of distaste that he knew he needed to restrain. He couldn’t quite let his own stances on the matter or the involved people take precedent, because that wasn’t what Damen needed from him. He needed to talk, to be heard, to know that he wasn’t at fault for other people’s problems.

“Whatever happened,” Laurent said, turned to the side so his knee was touching the side of Damen’s leg. “It wasn’t because of you.”

“You don’t know that,” Damen said.

He didn’t, technically. 

“I do,” Laurent said. “Because I know you.”

He was met with more silence. It was a different kind, a personal kind. One that made everything feel tangible, like the quiet was rising up between them to create a barrier, one that Laurent wanted to break apart with his hands, to dismantle between them forever.

Everything about Damen was a powerful, sure thing. He was always _so much,_ so much security and intensity like he never had to second guess a single thing about him, or those around him.

Now, everything was gradual. The notches in his spine straightening as he lifted himself slowly, his neck twisting enough so he could look at Laurent, could look into him. 

It wasn’t the first time Laurent felt like Damen was _really_ seeing him, but it was the first time that it didn’t scare him.

Outside, everything was different. It was a world of people who didn’t know who they really were, or who they were when they were together. It was struggles and facades, and a clock ticking down the little remainder of time they had together. 

They might never be this again, might never have this, but they were given it. Laurent could think about that, the obstacles that they might face and the deadline he was slowly meeting, but he found, in that moment, that he couldn’t think.

The feel of Damen’s face against his palm was familiar, the touch of stubble like a sharp, thrilling comfort. Damen’s gaze followed the way his thumb stroked his cheekbone, lips slightly parted as the cushions shifted beneath them, knees pressing even closer. His heart thud as Damen’s eyes lifted to find his, nearly beating out of his chest when Damen’s hand covered his.

Laurent felt the kiss in every part of his body, needing to grab onto Damen’s arm so as not to float away. He felt Damen respond to it, his own hands remaining still at his sides before moving up to Laurent’s shoulder, gripping the fabric of his jacket as the kiss deepened.

Laurent felt dismembered, just the brush of Damen’s lips enough to make him feel like a thread had been pulled so he was a pile of limbs on the floor. His head tilted, his entire body moving forward as he heard them both breathe in through their noses, his lips opening against Damen’s.

It ended abruptly, the sound of their mouths pulling apart sudden as the touch of Damen’s hands turned into a clutch, pushing Laurent away from him and breathing in again. A long, unsteady breath that took more work than an inhale should.

“You don’t have to-“ Damen said, turning his head away and down. He licked his lips, saying nothing more so the words lingered in the air. Laurent felt them rattle around in his head as they penetrated, understanding prickling at him in spikes.

“No, I-“ He could feel Damen on his lips. His throat felt tight, his mind slowly registering that Damen thought he was only doing this because he felt like he had to.

Laurent knew people often showed comfort through intimacy, softening someone’s pain with some form of physicality. That wasn’t what this was. It was more than, different. He felt like he needed Damen just as much as Damen might need him. He wanted to take away the pain that had been inflicted on him, but he craved the closeness just as much. There was a certain brightness when the two of them were together, and all he wanted was for them to be bathed in it.

“I know,” Laurent said.

He saw as Damen heard him, absorbed what he said, shifting his head enough that he could watch Laurent in turn. He looked guarded, a little reserved, like he was afraid that an assumption would lead to taking too much, something that wasn’t his to take.

“Laurent.” He lowered his eyes, and Laurent was hit with the strange, sudden urge to smooth his thumb along his brow, to soften all the creases in his face with the tips of his fingers, his lips. “I would never expect…”

They’d both made their share of jokes, once, before they knew each other. When they were strangers. But when it came down to it, when they had begun this thing that had changed the course of everything. Damen had never treated him with anything less than respect. He had never made Laurent feel like he was nothing more than a body.

“Damen,” Laurent said, bringing a knuckle beneath Damen’s jaw. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Like the eruption of a volcano, a kingdom giving way to a siege, the final blockade came apart as Damen took Laurent’s neck in his hands, finally pulling him in.

Laurent thought it was a shame for every person that never knew what it was like to be kissed by Damen, but it wasn’t a thought he cared to entertain. To be kissed by Damen was an experience, one that Laurent was going to remember long after it was taken from him. Damen made him feel wanted, adored, both from the gentle slide of his tongue and the way his arms moved to wind around Laurent’s waist. 

A shift, a lift of his leg and Laurent was on top of Damen, straddling his lap as Damen cupped his cheeks, Laurent’s hands on the front of Damen’s shirt so he felt the way the fabric pulled, straining under his grip as Damen curved into him.

Damen’s fingers swept down his cheeks, his grip changing, and Laurent heard the embarrassingly loud gasp that left his lips when Damen tilted his head back, his mouth hardly leaving Laurent’s skin as he made his way down Laurent’s neck in deliberate, open mouthed kisses. 

Laurent closed his eyes, his chest throbbing with that felt like a flood of different sensations as he listened to the sounds Damen made against him, lips punctuating his jaw, his collarbone, sweeping Laurent’s hair aside so he could brush his fingers along his nape and trace the line below his ear with his tongue.

The movement of Damen’s hands was rapid, the sudden tightening of his grip along Laurent’s thighs being his only warning before Damen was standing up, Laurent’s own hands winding around him as a way to stop himself from falling. 

Damen hefted him up a little higher, and Laurent had to drop his head forward and hide his face in the curve of Damen’s shoulder to block whatever open, ridiculously turned on expression he was displaying as Damen carried him across his room, his palms tight beneath his backside. 

Laurent felt when they reached the bed, tightening himself like a vise around Damen’s body so when he fell back on the mattress, it was with Damen on top of him. He gave the slightest push up to the pillows, his other hand holding the back of Damen’s neck so he could pull him back down the second Damen crawled on top of him.

Clothing was an obstacle, one that neither of them seemed to have any patience or regard for. Their shoes came off first, followed by Laurent’s jacket, a tangle of fabric around his elbows, then wrists as he struggled to get it off as quickly as possible, needing the serenity of Damen back in his arms so deeply that he could hardly think straight.

Damen pulled Laurent’s pants down gradually, and Laurent felt hindered from the way he proceeded to kiss every span of skin as it was revealed in a way that left him with nothing to do but remain on his back and feel each lingering, unhurried press of his lips. 

At some time that Laurent was unable to pinpoint exactly, he had begun to develop this new, foreign association with touch, a sensation that he could only reconcile with Damen. He would trace his fingers along some part of his own body that Damen had touched, and that alone would leave him with this consuming yearning that had him thinking about the next time they would be together, the next time the memory of him would become real again. His heart would beat emphatically, yet it was a fraction of what he felt that night as Damen kissed his skin like he was handcrafted porcelain.

When Laurent opened his eyes, it was to see Damen dispensed of his own pants, sitting back on his heels and looking down at Laurent. He was motionless, and yet he might as well have extended a hand to Laurent and pulled him from the way Laurent pushed himself up, rising onto his knees and moving forward so they were mirroring each other.

Damen’s didn’t speak. His gaze didn’t stray as he lifted his hands, and the way his fingers felt as they cupped Laurent’s face, just holding him like that left a bigger imprint in Laurent’s flesh than words ever could.

Damen kissed him like it was some shared secret between them, like going too fast would snap the silence in the room in half. He kissed him like it was all they would ever do, like it was all he ever wanted to do. Laurent thought that might be it, but it might have been projection of his own furtive feelings.

Laurent lifted his hands above his head when Damen made to pull his shirt up, the fabric blocking his vision for a moment before he heard it drop to the floor. It caused his hair to fall in his eyes, and he thought his heart might have changed in size from the way Damen smiled at that, brushing the strands away with gentle fingers.

When Laurent pulled Damen’s shirt off, he was hit with an odd burst of nerves that he hadn’t felt with him in weeks, like the sight of Damen in this way made him suddenly shy. He ran his hands up the planes of Damen’s chest, nails light on the dips of his collarbones, and the weight of all the strength and beauty that he had under his own hands made him feel powerful in his own way. He raised his eyes, feeling the way his face had flushed.

Damen’s smile altered, almost boyishly, and Laurent couldn’t stop himself from crossing his arms around Damen’s neck and pressing their mouths together, wanting to feel tangled in the light that Damen radiated. 

Damen kissed him firmly, open-mouthed, a sort of leisure like quality to the slide of his mouth and the drift of his hands like the two of them could create more time from just the way they held each other. Laurent moved his palm down to the front of Damen’s underwear where he could feel him hardening, each sound Damen made falling straight into Laurent’s mouth as he rubbed against him the way he knew Damen liked. 

They fell back against the pillows together, thighs sliding as they shifted, the length of Damen’s body sprawled out atop his. Touches began to blur; a hand up Damen’s flank, fingertips teasing the side of Laurent’s calf, each kiss deep and endless in the small universe that they had created.

Laurent lifted his foot, pushing at the hem of Damen’s boxers until Damen understood, lifting himself onto his knees enough to roll them down his hips and off. His fingers immediately pushed into the side of Laurent’s, his intentions becoming clear the second the two of them were completely undressed.

“Don’t,” Laurent said.

Damen lifted his head from where his eyes had fallen, one of his hands already at the juncture between thigh and hip. His thumb made a slow circle, and Laurent reached out to cover it with his.

“I want to,” Damen said, and Laurent could hear in his voice just how much he meant it. 

“I want,” Laurent said, stopping himself. He wanted more than he was ever going to get, but for now he would settle on this, on the one thing that made them closer than anyone else had ever been to Laurent. Closer than Laurent would ever want anyone else to be.

He spread his legs apart, lifting one and winding it around Damen’s side so the heel was at the small of his back, pushing Damen closer to him. Damen moved with it, one hand moving to the side of Laurent’s head to brace himself as Laurent took his other hand, bringing it between his own thighs. 

“Damen,” he said. “I want you.”

Damen watched him for a few seconds, neither of them looking away from each other as understanding registered, a mutual desire. Damen took his head in his hands and kissed him one more time, hard, and Laurent struggled to remember why it had taken him so long to see what kind of person Damen was. The kind his heart soared for, longed for.

Damen was quick to get what was needed after that, positioning himself between Laurent legs in only a few seconds, the touch of his fingers slick against him. Laurent was used to this already; the purposeful, methodical way he prepared him. The eager, vigorous way they took each other. It was what it had always been about with them, the fervency behind it all. He supposed that was how they displayed their sentiment.

Damen opened Laurent slowly, his fingers moving in a pace that was more like dragging, more like something that caused Laurent’s insides to turn over with anticipation. He shifted his body, raising his hips as he waited for Damen to quicken the pace to his usual liking, yet all he received was a whisper of a kiss.

Laurent tried to move against his fingers, but was met with the resistance of Damen’s free hand holding him down, bending his neck to kiss the same spot he had touched him. Laurent’s mouth opened to protest, but all he managed was a long, unintentional sigh as Damen curved his fingers, his mouth moving up Laurent’s chest.

Laurent didn’t know how long he laid there like that, Damen’s fingers working inside him as he kissed all the secret parts of him he could reach, all the parts he never knew meant anything until he discovered them with Damen. All he knew was that it was enough, surely it was enough, yet he and Damen were looking each other in those private, painfully intimate moments, and he didn’t know how to find the words to say anything at all.

They were kissing. Damen’s hands eventually came free so he was cradling Laurent in his arms, Laurent’s own hands pushing into his hair as they kissed between hot, panting breaths. Night had fallen since Laurent had come into Damen’s room, finding him drawn and dejected as he sat alone in his thoughts, unable to articulate what it was he was feeling. All Laurent had wanted was to take everything away, anything in the world that might rob Damen of all there was that made him the sweet, heartfelt person that he was.

They had somehow ended up on the edge of the bed, Laurent rolling on top of Damen with his hands wandering, only for Damen to give one more push and end up on top again. It shot a pang of thrill through Laurent’s body, the fact that they could be playful, too. They could be more.

“Laurent,” Damen bit out into his mouth, his lips going slack as Laurent curled his fingers around Damen’s cock. He was thick and heavy, and Laurent wanted to feel it deep inside him. He twisted his wrist, moving it up to the tip, Damen exhaling against him roughly with each movement of his hand. 

Damen lifted his head, his eyes a little hooded as he covered Laurent’s hand with his. “I need-“

“Yes,” Laurent said. He felt a tremor roll through him when Damen’s thumb traced the vein on his wrist, fighting the urge for his eyelids to lower. “Yes.”

Unable to wait anymore, not seeing any reason to deny them this any further, he reached for the bottle of lube that had been discarded to the side, pouring some on his hand and reaching forward.

Damen’s eyes closed at the contact, a rough sound vibrating behind pressed lips as he let himself feel it, Laurent’s strokes long and tight as he hung his head by Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent ran his free hand through Damen’s curls, pressing a quick, impulsive kiss to his temple before he braced his feet on the mattress, shifting forward.

“Wait,” Damen breathed out, the first press against Laurent’s entrance seeming to be when awareness settled. He tried to push himself away but Laurent moved his grip to his lower back, holding Damen in place. “Laurent, wait. I didn’t put-“

“I don’t care,” Laurent said, his teeth pressing into his lower lip. Another shift forward had him rubbing against the head of Damen’s cock, and he just stopped himself from arching his back into it, the need to tilt his head back in abandon.

“I-“

Laurent pushed himself up and onto his elbow, taking the sides of Damen’s face in his hands. “Damen,” he said, running his thumb along his bottom lip, right before he leaned up to kiss him.

Damen groaned into it, brazen, his own hands moving down Laurent’s sides until he was gripping his hips, pushing them both down onto the bed. Laurent felt pinned down by Damen’s bulk, their chests pressing together so their bodies were perfectly aligned, his own lips parting in a wordless gasp when he felt the first push inside.

Their foreheads were pressed together. Damen’s eyes were closed, the movements of his body still like he was putting all his focus on the way Laurent felt, clenched around him. Damen held onto him, and Laurent was grateful for the moment of pause where he could adjust himself to more than just the physical feeling of Damen inside him.

“Laurent,” Damen murmured against his lips. He pulled his hips back, slowly, going as far as he could before pressing back inside. Laurent tightened his grip, feeling the need to hold on as he drew out again, pushing in even slower.

“Laurent,” he repeated, each syllable brushing their lips together in a way that sparked a tingle down his spine, sparkles of electricity. Laurent couldn’t respond, couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but loop his hands from under Damen’s arms, gripping his shoulders from beneath so he could brace himself against Damen’s long, deep thrusts.

He heard the bed creak beneath them. He heard Damen’s sighs and groans, his own breaths labored in his own ears, growing louder and more unsteady with each press of their bodies together, each roll of Damen’s hips into his. Laurent felt the way his nails dug into Damen’s skin, but if it bothered him he didn’t show it, his movements unyielding as he buried his face deeper into Laurent’s neck, moaning into his damp skin.

Laurent would think that after everything they had done together, things would stop feeling so new. The first time he’d fucked Damen. The first time he’d let Damen turn him over and tongue his way inside him. The time in Damen’s shower, after his football game, when Laurent had gone to his knees and taken Damen in his mouth. None of those occurrences had been natural, none of them familiar, and yet those seemed to pale in comparison to this. This slow, gentle rocking. The low, unrepressed sounds Damen made when Laurent grazed his nails against his scalp. The silence, thick like a fog, nothing to distract Laurent from how hard his heart was beating against Damen’s.

Laurent could feel the way Damen was stretching him open with each push. He was sure that he would feel the impression of it in the morning, but that did nothing to stop him from needing more, from feeding into the craven desire of having Damen as deep as possible, like he could implant him there forever. His legs lifted in the air, the angle changing enough when he crossed his ankles behind his back that he cried out, the sound of it somehow only causing Damen to slow down even more, his own name being the only thing that left Damen’s lips. 

He was close. Damen’s arms had moved beneath his body so they could wrap around Laurent, closing him into his warmth and making Laurent feel like he was truly a part of him, like he could wake up like this every day if he wanted to. His legs tightened, thighs quivering when Damen’s lips whispered against his pulse, and it was beneath Damen’s rhythmic, shallow thrusts that he came against them, entirely untouched. 

Laurent’s body shuddered with pleasure, sharp pulses of it throwing his mind into a standstill where reality blended with his thoughts, and a desperate need to regain his composure. Through the hazy blur of his mind, he felt distantly aware that Damen has stopped moving, that he was holding himself as still as possible as Laurent’s body moved with uneven breathes.

Laurent turned his head forward, lifting it from where his cheek had fallen down onto the sheets. “Its okay,” Laurent said. His voice felt hoarse as he wrapped an arm around Damen’s neck, his other hand moving against his head as he held his face against his neck. “Don’t stop.”

He felt Damen’s body shudder against him, and it was a few dragged out seconds of Laurent rubbing a hand along his nape, Damen inhaling against his sweat soaked skin before he began to move again, picking up his pace just enough that Laurent could feel his own body moving with it. He touched his back, his arms, his fingers moving down Damen’s wrist until they trailed his palms, and it was Damen who turned them over, fingers interlocking before Laurent was aware of what he was doing.

He came like that, their fingers laced, whatever words that had left his mouth too incoherently muddled for Laurent to understand before his head was dropping forward beside Laurent’s, coming inside him in thick, hot pulses. 

Laurent’s legs were still wrapped around Damen’s waist to keep him close, tight enough that he felt him jerk against Laurent like an aftershock of pleasure. His mouth was open and panting as he slumped against him heavily, most of his weight pressing Laurent into the mattress as he lay there on top of him.

It was a minute or two later that Damen pulled himself out, and the warm rush that Laurent felt was enough to cause a hot tangle in his chest, fighting the urge to roll over and hide himself in Damen’s chest. His bones still felt melted into the sheets, his limbs lighter than air, and all either of them seemed to manage at that point was to remain on their backs, searching for air. 

As the seconds passed by, each thud of his pulse working like the tick of a clock, Laurent could feel the first stirrings of an ache brewing inside him. He imagined a gavel hovering slightly in the air, moments away from its inevitable, deafening smash on the block.

Laurent knew Damen was gazing at him, just as he knew he needed time before he could do the same. Damen’s eyes were like the sun; warm, comforting, all encompassing. But just like the sun, sometimes you had to look away.

 

As it turned out, things didn’t become easier once you admit them to yourself. 

That was something that was always advised, a notion that people tended to preach. The first step to moving on was to come to terms with it, to face it head on. And while the concept might have merit, that didn’t change any of Laurent’s circumstances. No matter what way it was spun, the fact of the matter stood: Laurent was in love with someone he would never have.

Time was officially running out, the hand on the clock nearing the stroke of midnight. Their project was essentially complete, one final session all that was really needed anymore, two if they wanted to stretch it. With their pretense gone, with all reasons to maintain communication in the past, Laurent could think of nothing else to lean on. He had no more cards to play, his hand empty.

If he wanted, he could have deluded himself into believing there was something there, that there had been something there all along. He had seen the looks, had lived the moments where little shifts had occurred, flickers in the air, but he was no fool. Damen was a warm person, a loving person. Laurent knew he meant something to him, to some effect, even something that was more than just sex, but he also knew what wasn’t there, what couldn’t be reciprocated. What was an unexpected switch, a pivotal time in Laurent’s life was only a harmless fling to Damen. And while it may have meant something to him, might always mean something to him, Laurent knew it would always just be another chunk in his memory, another portion of his life spent with someone that he cared about, just like all of the other people he would eventually care about.

Laurent couldn’t quite complain; it was only fair. He hadn’t gone into it with any expectations that it would be anything else, so he couldn’t exactly hold Damen to that standard. He hadn’t expected for everything to turn on its head, to tilt Laurent’s world off its axis.

But it had. He had only a few more days with Damen, and while that brought its own form of pain, he thought he could find some solace in it. The sooner it ended, the sooner he could move on to the next chapter of this story. 

He had known it was going to be difficult, those final moments where he had to put a meaning to the word unrequited. He had known since he had gathered himself that night and left Damen’s house, feeling like he had left a part of himself there. That did nothing to prepare him for how difficult facing Damen would be.

Laurent was over aware of the unease as they sat across the coffee table from each other, as if the air was stale with it. Damen was similarly standoffish when he had entered the room, though it was significantly different than the last time. He seemed more in control of his thoughts, and that could only mean something worse.

He ignored it. He pulled his things out, setting the completed binder in front of Damen for his approval, Damen doing the same with his portion of the work. As they gave everything a final look through, Laurent contemplated what exactly he could say to break the silence, to bring things back to the easiness they had adapted at first. 

But when he looked up to speak, his nerve was immediately shot. Damen was peering up at him over his papers, his mouth pressed against his fist in some careful, mindful position, and Laurent could tell at once that he hadn’t been meant to notice him looking. He lowered his eyes, well aware of what that expression meant. He had something to say, and was trying to figure out how to do it.

“The presentation,” Laurent said, the first thing that came to mind. “Are you ready?”

Damen blinked, lowering his fist as he leaned back. “Yeah.”

Laurent nodded, thumbing at the frayed leather of the couch. There really wasn’t much to say on the matter. “Did you make notes?”

“No, I don’t want it to sound rehearsed,” Damen said. He changed his footing, closing the binder. Laurent could tell from the set of his mouth that he had more to say, but he just looked away, like the birds flying from branch to branch was captivating.

“Right,” Laurent said, and he could feel time slipping through his feelings like a shattered hourglass. 

They returned to their work. It was stupid, really. Ridiculous that Laurent was there. They were finished, any final tweaking could be done separately. It could have been due to how in his own head Laurent was, but the awkwardness seemed palpable. Damen kept clearing his throat, and a part of Laurent just wanted him to spit it out already, whatever it was he was working the nerve up to do.

He had wished in vain. Laurent knew the moment his name was said that he wasn’t ready to hear it, and opted to pretend like he hadn’t heard, writing something down on his papers as a distraction. His name, right below where it was already written.

“Laurent,” Damen repeated, louder, and Laurent knew it was time to let go. He looked up, instantly wishing he hadn’t.

His hands were clasped, though his fingers kept tapping against his knuckles. Laurent could see that he was trying to aim for composure, and he was never less grateful for Damen’s inability to mask his feelings. He was uncomfortable, nervous, and Laurent didn’t want any part of it.

“Yes?” Laurent said. His voice was steady, that was good.

Laurent wasn’t sure if the house was otherwise empty, not seeing any family members or the maid when he had come in, but he couldn’t hear any activity outside the bedroom walls. Nothing to distract him from the way Damen straightened his shoulders, taking in air.

“So,” Damen said, one leg moving forward a little. “Prom is coming up.”

It took a few seconds for the words to breach, the last thing Laurent expected to hear. “What?”

“You know,” Damen said. “The masquerade? They hold it every year at-“

“I know what prom is,” Laurent said, cutting him off without meaning to. 

“Right,” Damen said. “Sure.” He touched the back of his neck, and Laurent began to feel the first, unpleasant tang of something sour crawling up his throat. A feat beats passed before Damen adjusted his hips on the couch, leaning his weight back on his elbows before he waved a few fingers forward, aimlessly. “It’s at the end of the month.”

“I know,” Laurent repeated, nearly flinching at the way it had come out. Erratic, a blurt. He filed his lungs with air, glancing around the quiet room before facing forward.

He eyed Damen, the careful arrangement of his arms and legs, and he could immediately see it for what it was; his body intentionally splayed to seem casual. The pitch of his voice held a tone that was too light to fit how out of sorts he seemed, and Laurent finally understood.

Somewhere, somehow, Laurent had been too obvious. He had been too vulnerable, had shown too much, and Damen knew how he felt. And because this was Damen, considerate, caring Damen, he was trying to let him down easy. 

It was clever, really. Damen was too kind to outwardly reject someone, so he was trying to mention his own plans, his own plans for the future, so Laurent would know that they wouldn’t involve him without having to actually say it. If the situation were reversed, Laurent would have probably done the same.

“And?” Laurent said.

Damen rubbed a palm along his knee, lifting his shoulder. “Well, I wanted to run something by you, actually.”

Like an anchor falling to the shallow end of the sea, Laurent felt his stomach contract as dread settled. He straightened his body as well, placing his pen as a placeholder and flipping his notebook shut. 

“I don’t really have any opinions on prom,” he said.

Damen pressed his lips together. “I know you usually don’t go to those things,” he said. “But I-“

“Going with Kashel?”

Damen’s lashes fluttered, eyebrows furrowing for a brief second before he shook his head, once. “What?”

“Not Kashel?” Laurent said, shrugging. Maybe that had already been explored. “What about that guy from Isthima’s wrestling team?”

Damen didn’t say anything at first. He looked at Laurent, letting the silence speak for itself before he said, “who?”

Laurent tried not to roll his eyes. He tried not to do something worse, like put his face in his hands.

“Whatever opinion you’re looking for,” Laurent said, ready for this to be done with. “You should try someone else. I don’t care about prom.”

Damen was still silent. His hands were at his sides, flattened by his knees as he gazed forward wordlessly. Laurent refused to be the next one to speak, he had revealed enough as it was.

Eventually, Damen nodded his head. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

He crossed his arms in front of him, adding nothing more to the conversation, and Laurent felt an abrupt flare of irritation. He had just allowed himself to be humiliatingly dejected, and Damen was acting like _he_ had the right to be vexed. He began to gather his things, not glancing up from the books as he spoke. “Was that all?”

“Yep,” Damen said. 

Laurent stilled, just looking down at the floor between them before he gave himself a push, dragging his body up from his chair. He lifted his things, looking down at Damen for a few seconds. He wanted him to look up at Laurent, and didn’t know what he would do if he did.

He put the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in class.”

Damen lifted his eyes. He looked at Laurent the same way he had that night, when Laurent had walked in on him staring into nothing. 

“Bye, Laurent.”

 

It was two days later, when Laurent was on the couch with a book balanced against his bent knees that Auguste came to him.

He’d stepped into the lounge room, sans the bowl of popcorn that he generally brought with him when he came to watch a movie. That was one of the ways Laurent knew he was there for a talk, rather a simple hangout. The other way was the determined stride, the way he had pushed Laurent’s legs off the edge and sat across from him.

When Laurent continued to read, Auguste nudged at his ankle, leaning forward and snatching the book out of Laurent’s hands before the first attempt could even garner a response. 

Laurent tipped his head back against the armrest. “What.”

“You know what,” Auguste said.

“You’re right.” Laurent rubbed at his forehead. “The weather is rather draining today.”

He heard Auguste sigh, which was about the last thing he felt like hearing. ”Laurent.”

Laurent dropped his hand, wanting to turn over and press his face into the pillow. Some small, childish instinct even considered pushing his face into his brother’s chest like he would when he was a kid.

But Laurent wasn’t a kid anymore. He needed to stop acting like one.

“What?” he said again.

Auguste didn’t reply. When Laurent opened an eye, he saw him turned towards him, one knee pulled up to his chest, motionless. He fought his own sigh, pushing himself up and taking the same position as Auguste. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Auguste asked.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Laurent said. He wasn’t sure what Auguste knew, what he thought he knew, Laurent hadn’t mentioned anything, but he wasn’t going to mope to him about something helpless. 

Auguste’s eyes were a similar blue to Laurent’s, though the shade was lighter, like the glaze of transparent ice. Laurent had always told him that he showed his emotion through his eyes more than anyone he knew, unable to deceive anyone, least of all Laurent. 

It was awful, to see it now. He was looking at Laurent like he was tangled in some harshly spun web, and it only made it all the more degrading. The degree to which he was showing his sorrow, so much so that his older brother - who had no qualms about teasing Laurent – didn’t know how to handle him.

Laurent pulled his second knee up, looping his arms around his legs and leaning his cheek down. He watched the way the magazine cover fluttered on the table from the open window, the pages flipping by quickly.

“This is my fault,” Laurent said.

He heard the couch cushions squeeze, but he didn’t turn to see how Auguste had moved. “How do you figure?” Auguste asked. 

“You know I don’t let people in,” Laurent said. He heard how despondent he sounded, but this was Auguste. He knew every part of Laurent, even the ugly ones. “This is why.”

“Laurent,” Auguste said, dropping his feet down. Laurent saw his shoes come down to the floor, his side pressing into Laurent’s body. “There’s nothing wrong with opening yourself up. You didn’t do anything bad.”

“No,” Laurent agreed. “I did something stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid.”

“Right,” Laurent said. “Because look at all the good it did me.”

He knew he was being ambiguous, Auguste not even having the story, nothing more than his own assumptions which had led to many brotherly smirks and bumps in the side when they passed each other in the house. And yet, he was here. Trying to talk Laurent through this, when he didn’t even know what _this_ was.

He lifted his head and turned to him, Auguste’s expression even more twisted than before. He was wearing a gray, oversized hoodie, one that made him look years younger than he was, closer to Laurent in age.

“Talk to him,” Auguste said.

“I did,” Laurent said, thinking of anything other than that afternoon, anything to distract him from the feeling of his lungs being crushed. 

“Did you?”

 _”Yes,”_ Laurent said, taking the book from behind him and dropping it on the table. “He talked to me, I’ve heard all that I needed to.”

Auguste closed his eyes, rubbing at them with the tips of his fingers. He remained that way for a moment, running his hand passed his mouth after, massaging the skin before he spoke. “Do you care about him?”

Laurent looked at the black TV. He remembered how warm Damen’s eyes were when he laughed. “You know I do.”

“Then talk to him,” Auguste said.

“I told you,” Laurent said, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt. His brother was so simple in these things, so straightforward, he just wouldn’t understand. “Auguste, I-“

“Laurent, listen to me,” Auguste said, putting a hand on Laurent’s shoulder and turning him. He was sitting up straighter, the few inches he had on Laurent showing from the way he held his shoulders back. “This isn’t like you. You’re not someone who takes a loss easily. You go after the things you want.”

“ _I can’t_ ,” Laurent said. He didn’t know how to say it, how to put it into words. _He doesn’t want me, like that._

_He doesn’t want me._

“You can,” Auguste said. His hand was still on Laurent’s arm. “Have I ever led you wrong?”

“We’re not little boys, Auguste,” Laurent said. “You can’t give me everything I want anymore.”

He heard the sound of the house key being inserted, the turn of the lock echoing loud in the main floor. The door pushed open, key chains rattling against the table lining the entrance as their mother entered the house.

“Boys!” Hennike called out, heels tapping. “I need help.”

Auguste pushed himself up to help their mother with the groceries, turning back to Laurent to give him a small, parting smile. 

“I believe in you, Laurent,” he said, ruffling his hair before he turned away, walking out the room and leaving him there alone, with nothing to do but think. 

 

Laurent sat on his bed, looking at the painting on the wall as he reminded himself all the reasons why he was doing this. All the reasons why he was ignoring his better sense of self-preservation, why he was leaping.

He laid back on the mattress, replaying the images of Damen looking at him from the other end of the classroom, grinning when he noticed Laurent catching him. The few times they’d sat together during lunch to work, offering Laurent a glimpse of what things might be like under different circumstances. 

His phone vibrated, and Laurent ignored the heavy, obtrusive pounding in his ears as he lifted it to his face, swiping along the screen.

He saw his text, bubbled in blue with white letters. _Can we talk?_

And right below it, _I was already on my way._

Laurent covered his face, not even sure what he was muttering to himself as his thoughts rushed like a whirlpool. He was stronger than this, this stuttering heartbeat and fear of inadequacy. He didn’t do anything by halves, and when he believed in something, he was all in. He could be stronger, for Damen. For himself.

He didn’t know how far Damen was when he’d sent the text, so he had no idea how to judge how much longer had had until he got there. Laurent couldn’t even begin to guess what he wanted to talk about, having already said his side a few days ago when he’d nearly turned Laurent down. He couldn’t think about that, only letting himself dwell on the good times. 

Eventually he heard footsteps downstairs, having been too lost in his head to have heard the familiar sound of Damen’s car pulling up in the drive. He lifted himself to his feet and smoothed his hair back, only managing to make it halfway across the room before the door opened. 

Laurent just stood there, trying to get his feet to work again as Damen closed the door, not taking his eyes off Laurent as he did. He was dressed in regular clothing, dark jeans and a sweater, and that seemed like a blow of its own. No more school uniforms, those times were gone, that pretext over.

“Hey,” Damen said.

“Hi,” Laurent said back, turning around and motioning to the sitting area, dumbly, as if Damen didn’t know at this point where to sit. He heard Damen walking, looking up at the ceiling for one last second of deliberation before he came forward, taking the spot beside him.

It was a familiar stance, the two of them side by side on the couch. They’d worked there, talked, fucked. It had become an instinctual comfortability for them, one they didn’t even to think about anymore. Laurent looked at Damen’s hands, wrung in his lap, trying to pretend that this was one of those times. He wouldn’t be nervous, and he wouldn’t be unsure. He would take a chance, and whatever happened, happened. He looked up.

“Can I say something first?” Damen asked.

Laurent closed his lips, forcing his shoulders to relax as he lifted a hand. Whatever it was, he could take it. It couldn’t be worse than the outcomes he’d already fabricated in his mind. He would say what he wanted, and then Laurent would be able to give it one last try.

He drew in a breath, readying himself for his gambit. “Go on.”

Damen nodded, pressing his hands into his knees like he was preparing to push himself up, but he stayed as he was. The muscles in his biceps tensed from it, his body turned so they were looking at each other.

“I hope that by now you know,” Damen said, “how much I respect you. Your wishes.”

Laurent reminded himself not to look away. He forced himself not to recoil, not to close in on himself. _I respect your wishes,_ Damen would probably say. _So I’m asking you to respect mine._

“Yes,” Laurent said, for a lack of any other response. 

“And I would never try to push you. I would never do anything to purposely make you uncomfortable.”

He was deflating, shrinking with every passing second like a helium balloon jabbed by needles. “Okay.”

Damen rubbed his palms against the material of his pants, fingers flexing into the fabric. 

“So,“ he rubbed at his neck, shaking his head a few times. “I thought about it, and I know I fucked up. The whole prom thing was too much.”

Laurent looked away. “Damen-“

“I wasn’t thinking,” Damen went on, Laurent’s voice nothing more than noise. “I just- I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted everyone to see that you were mine. It was all I was thinking about, and I was so caught up in everything, and-“ he waved his hand forward in a few circular gestures that he probably thought made sense, but nothing seemed to be making any sense in that moment. 

“I didn’t let myself stop and consider that you might not want me too, in that way,” Damen said, lowering his hand to the spot on the couch between them, the few inches separating them. “And I’m sorry.”

Outside, the sound of a car honking, an indisputable sign that other things were gong on. Laurent didn’t understand it, not quite seeing how someone could be managing to drive a vehicle when the world had just stopped spinning.

He turned to Damen. “What?” 

Damen’s head lowered a fraction. “I wanted to ask you if there was anything I could do.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking small and nervous, and Laurent wondered if it was possible that his thumping heart had caused him to hear wrong. “To have you just consider giving me a shot. A real shot.”

Laurent waited for an explanation. A clear one, one that made sense. When all he got was Damen’s large, brown eyes and a miniscule, anxious twist of his lips, all he managed to do was stand.

“Damen,” Laurent said. “Get up.”

Damen’s mouth gaped a little, a confused frown wrinkling his features before he stood, carefully, as if he wasn’t sure if he was getting it right. Laurent waited patiently, trying to tamper down the ludicrous feeling that he was about to sprout wings and fly.

Damen was standing in front of him, the two of them facing each other with Laurent’s head tilted back so he was looking him in the eye. He remembered that first time in Damen’s bedroom, when everything had started just like this. Two opposing figures amidst so much unknown, having no idea what they were about to get themselves into.

Like then, Laurent took the last step forward, took Damen’s face in his hands, and kissed him.

Unlike then, there was no hesitation on Damen’s part, no uncertain pause. While he might have been confused at what he likely thought was an abrupt change, that did nothing to stop him from wrapping Laurent in his arms, holding him as close as possible as he kissed him back.

Laurent’s chest was on fire. His bones felt like fragile twigs, his feet seconds away from pooling into nothing, and yet he never felt more full, more whole than in that moment. His hands had wound around Damen’s neck, and he was smiling into the kiss, and nothing else in the world mattered because _Damen wanted him._

When they finally pulled apart, Laurent’s hair was a mess and Damen’s lips were red. The two of them were breathing unevenly, and they had somehow ended up on the other end of the room, Damen’s back pressed against the wall. Damen was smiling at him, beaming, and Laurent had to hide his face in Damen’s neck, afraid of what helpless expression he might have on himself.

But then, Dame’s arms were around him, different than during the kiss. It was slow, gentle, one wrapped around his shoulder and one his waist, his lips on Laurent’s forehead as he hugged him into his warm embrace.

“Do you feel it too?” Damen asked into his ear, quietly.

Laurent lifted his head, still caged in. he didn’t care, he never wanted to leave Damen’s arms.

“Yes,” Laurent said, unable to ignore how bewildered he felt. “I was- how could you not tell?”

 _”Me?”_ Damen asked, his grip slacking a little as his eyebrows arched. “How could _you_ not tell?”

“Are you serious,” Laurent said. He loved Damen, but he also thought he might shake him a little.

“Laurent,” Damen said, smiling a little. “I literally tried to ask you to prom the other day.”

Laurent didn’t know if Damen had released him, or if he had broken out of his hold. Either way, there were suddenly a few large paces between them. “ _What?”_

“I was,” Damen looking up at the ceiling, shaking his head. “ _So_ obvious,” he said. “And you rejected me, so I thought-“

“I-“ The room was a little hazy. Either that, or Laurent’s understanding of his life was. “You’re not serious.”

“You told me to take Kashel!”

“I was-“ Laurent began, but just raised a hand and took a step back. “Forget it, I don’t even-“ he turned around, pushing his hands into his hair and letting out a long, heavy breath. He had no idea how tangled everything had managed to get, but none of that mattered. None of that had to ever matter again.

“What changed your mind?” Laurent asked, turning.

Damen looked up from the ground. “What?”

“You thought I didn’t want you,” Laurent said, still not able to even fathom the idea. “That I was resisting your advances. What made you try again?”

“Oh,” Damen said after a few seconds, looking back down at the ground. His face was a little flushed, something very rare for him, and the short laugh that slipped out made Laurent’s own chest warm.

“I was really scared I’d offended you,” Damen said, squeezing his elbow. ”And I was nervous I would make it worse, so I called Auguste.”

Laurent just looked at him. “You asked my brother for his blessing?”

“I guess,” Damen said, cheeks darkening. “But I mainly wanted to ask him if he thought I had a chance.”

When Laurent said nothing, he went on. “I know how close you two are,” he said. “I figured he knew you best.”

Laurent closed his eyes, having to laugh at himself a little. Auguste’s conflicted expression, his constantly averted eyes. Laurent knew Auguste was unable to deceive, but he had mistaken his deliberation for something else entirely. Of course Auguste had known all along.

“Laurent,” Damen said.

He had stepped in front of Laurent, his hands at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them now. Laurent’s were doing the same, uselessly, and he felt it as the moment changed.

“I don’t know what this means for us,” Damen said, not looking away. “What I mean to you, exactly. But I just want to make you happy.”

Laurent wasn’t made for this. He didn’t know if he could contain it, all the emotion that was banging inside him like a pinball.

He forced words to come. “ _You_ make me happy.”

His smile showed in his eyes first, lines softening, followed by the upwards curve of his lips. He looked at him the same way Laurent felt. Like something long lost had finally been found. 

“No one is going to believe it,” Damen said.

Laurent stepped up to him. “I know.”

“They’re all going to talk,” Damen said. He reached for Laurent’s hand.

“I don’t care,” Laurent replied.

Damen lifted it to his mouth, holding Laurent’s gaze as he pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Neither do I.”

“Good,” Laurent said. He turned their hands over, lacing their fingers together so he could pull Damen into him, keeping him close.

“Damen,” Laurent said, unable to stifle his own grin when Damen began to smile again. “Will you go to prom with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> [ @laurent-ofvere](http://laurent-ofvere.tumblr.com)   
> 


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